Ripping and Dragging
by Xealotte
Summary: What if Rubedo had succeeded in taking Albedo from the Space-Time Distortion instead of killing him?  Post-XS2, AU. Albedo/Rubedo; rated Mature for gore and URTVcest.
1. The Eternal Chain

A/N:

Hello all! Anyone who knows me probably knows me for my downright obsession with Albedo. And that's fine. I've written non-fiction and roleplayed (Paragraph format-and, don't worry, there will be NO OCs in this. Canon and original don't mix.) for years, and figured it was about time to make a fanfic. To be completely honest, the fact that there hasn't been any updates on any good Albedo fics in _much_ too long (and I'm terribly impatient) was a rather key factor. (Here's looking at you, Tylida! My cruel, yet most wondrous goddess.)

And so, out of the insanity, this came!

The title comes from what Jr. claims before your final fight with Albedo: "I'm going to rip you out of here and drag you back to the Durandal!"

And, that's the main basis of this fic. I don't want to spoil too much, though. 3

I've left it rated T for now, but there's quite a chance it'll be bumped to an M before long.

Any of the French I'll probably leave untranslated; if Albedo doesn't explain it to poor little Rubedo later, then it's either not important, or you can look it up. c:

The full titles and the chapter titles will probably be different each time—I like nice, long chapter titles, but, alas! Fanfic only leaves room for a word or two. Anyways, enjoy! And, do review, uploading's somewhat a pain (thank you, Razzy-chan!), so if there's not enough like for this story, I may just not upload them. *shrug*

Second chapter's rough draft is almost finished, but I'll probably wait to see the reception of this one before I upload it.

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

The Eternal Chain Cannot Be Broken

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><p>The fight had been long: tedious, even. Sure, it was fun to have his final fight with the redhead, but said boy was taking so long. He wanted to attack right back; alas, a few morning stars and ice blasts were the worst he could do. He could always use any element, but ice seemed particularly "right" at this moment. Battling a crimson serpent, blowing tendrils of flames; it was only natural to counter with the polar winds of ice.<p>

Frail, frail Rubedo... he began to wonder if casting safety was even going to do the job before fainting from exhaustion. Even modifying this realm to heal the few wounds he gave was beginning to become tedious. And, who knows, if he ran out of ether, he would have to sit there helpless. A helpless victim was definitely not one Rubedo would go for...

A few escape routes came to mind, in case this went on for too long. The pain was nice, so nice, but the tension from fear of not-death was getting to him. His best, though longest escape route would be out the way his precious Rubedo came in; the redhead's way out would probably be via that disturbingly pure presence floating around—his guardian angel, no doubt. Another option would be to summon his reconstructed Simeon: though, was Wilhelm even done with it? The bulky form was to be replaced with a lithe hydra, dashed with glorious orange, a sickly red. Then again, the deal he made with Wilhelm may not be valid if he didn't die... that wouldn't be good. The latter option of escaping seemed less valid. He could always just teleport, but that always left him so tired, and then he'd be at the mercy of listening to Margulis rant and ramble. Not that he had any room to complain, having been giving his own obsession a nice, psychotic rant moments ago. Yes, that fired him up.

But, as for Margulis... Did his lover boy kill him? No, probably not. He was too stubborn to die: it was one of the few things he liked about his so-called boss: that refusal to give up, despite his goals being hollow, mindlessly following some annoying voice...

...no, he'd just have to restrain himself. If he kept this mocking up, certainly the stressed boyish figure would give him just enough shots, just enough fire...

The white-headed variant wondered if amidst the battle, his much younger older brother would notice everything he did to create a perfectly poetic arena.

The Kirschwassers lined the room, frozen: ageless as his brother was, and just as defenseless. A quick shatter to that glass, and their existence would be over.

The walls were gruesome, wavering images that could be anything one imagined. Mostly, though, they looked like bones: giant, monstrous bones. Fitting for a monster's grave, he figured; and if Rubedo didn't see that, perhaps he'd think they were to represent his own dragon bones.

Did he notice the red and blue wires spread across the room, converging on his red throne? It was Rubedo who shaped him, after all. It was Rubedo he wanted to be close to, to be seated beside him in his new world; correction, _their_ new world. A shame that the king of this new world would not take the reins from his hard-working knight. But, that figures; this king was much more of a taker than a receiver.

Even his choice in gloves were for him; the pale lavender was the middle between his own snow white and deep amethyst eyes. After all, purple originated from that fusion of blue and red that his twin carried. Really, all variants used that blue as a base for their eyes, their secondary identities; mixed with namesake locks, their primary identities. Blue was mixed with a dash of the leader's red for himself, a dash of their father's bronze for the ever-loyal sister, and a dash of the sister's yellow for the executioner.

Alas, his brother was oblivious to the world around him, just doing the empty task he encouraged ever so strongly. He kept shooting those bullets infused with his glorious god-killing fire. If it could kill a god, surely it could kill a simple human strangled by that god's power.

And it was working. Complete control of this domain allowed him to cover how slowly the wounds were beginning to regenerate. U-DO enhanced the rate, Red Dragon destroyed U-DO. His own regeneration relied on the UMN, which relied on U-DO; no U-DO, no UMN, no regeneration.

None the less, back to the primary point, this battle was getting cumbersome. That red rage was somewhat returning to serene blue.

"The only one who can kill me is you, Rubedo..." he smirked triumphantly, as if to kindle the fire back. But, there was a bit of shock instead. Oh, right, his brother dared to have fantasies where he dragged his nearly 6'3" body all the way back to his ship; he'd be lucky to even find the way out. Granted, if he fainted instead of died, then who knows what would happen to this domain...

"Can't you do anything by yourself?" he quipped, struggling to stay standing under the massive blood loss. Ah, illusions. So convenient, especially to someone blinded with rage.

"Shut up!" the red-head roared back, his aura vibrating in response. Good, good, he was back on track.

"Give it to me, fill me with your rage!"

"Albedo...!" Those teeth grinded, giving another double dose of bullets. It didn't matter where they went; as long as they made damn contact! The way his narcissistic brother flinched and stumbled to a sitting position so often implied they were. But there weren't even bullet holes! It was ridiculous, and he was getting tired. When Albedo regenerated him, it made him feel sick to the stomach, healing the few wounds he had. It was more like he was being forced to heal his wounds, forcing any positive energy the Red Dragon managed to have into Medica. He'd be damned if he wasted any time to heal himself, he just wanted the monster in front of him sedated.

"Now! Kill me now!" a beastly growl and more shots, deciding to take this a bit more systematically: one limb at a time. He shot relentless at that left arm, until he was out of bullets.

It wasn't until he went to reload he noticed something peculiar. First off, Albedo was sitting, head hung down. Secondly, the entire area was starting to collapse. Was it over? He ran closer to his brother, both out of worry and survival instinct: the pillars were less numerous up here. However, there were still no wounds on him and...

"Not bad... Rubedo," he sounded so weak. But he was just mocking him a moment ago...

"Albedo? You..." Are alright? Are pulling an elaborate trap? ...Are going to die?

A small chuckle came out, completely devoid of previous sanity. It sounded almost... sad.

"Well, Rubedo, admit it: you enjoyed that, didn't you?" it was a complicated question, but with a simple answer. The redhead replied without thinking.

"Yeah. It was fun," it reminded him of those years in the past, playing war games with his brothers. Demented or not, growing up a bioweapon, war games were considered "play" for them. And it was rare that the variants would be on the same side: that just wouldn't be fair to the standards.

"My blood danced in my veins... we really are nothing more than instruments of war," the boy stated factually, eyes locked on his brother. The throne that seemed to confine him dissipated—another illusion?—as the nearly bare man came half-tumbling down the stairs. He sat at the bottom of those steps, near Rubedo, but leaving just enough space to not pop his leader's bubble.

"No, that's not it," the albino muttered, as if he'd just had an epiphany. "We're not foolish because we're tools," a pause for the twin's expectations to grow, "It's because we're men," because, deep down, they were _human_. It was natural instinct, the fight of flight reaction: and neither twin had enough sense or lacked enough pride to ever chose flight over fight. The boy's eyes darted back and forth over his brother's body, uncertain how to take this new-found sanity, let alone the words he was saying.

"Oblivion, huh? You might say... this is a release," his grip on the illusions was slipping. His arm had long been gone, and the intangible one he created was vanishing. An unfortunately good thing Rubedo wasn't a hugger, else there wouldn't be much to hug...

"At least... I won't have to fear losing anyone anymore," and that was his intention, his goal, all along. To not have to loose anyone he cared about; to _not_ care about as many people as possible. But, sometimes that was hard; so, he had to kill them himself. Yes, eliminate the fear of losing them by getting over it... and over it, and over it, and over it...

"Albedo?" unfortunately, the one person he could never bring himself to kill, was staring at him with big, childish, and confused eyes.

"What's with that face?" he couldn't let him hurt too much for the rest of his life, acting nonchalant would be best. But... still, he had to know... "You look like... you just lost your best friend, Rubedo,"

"You bastard!" yes, he was hurt, "You knew... all along!" tears were welling in those beautiful cerulean eyes. Nonchalantly would be much better.

"What are you talking about?" unfortunately, a smile was tugging at his lips. "I... I can't stand you or Nigredo," that damn smile wouldn't leave. He felt almost at peace, knowing his death and Testamenthood were both soon. As a Testament, _he_ could protect Rubedo, from the shadows; affect fate in his favor. It would be wonderful to watch over him, prevent his death. Speaking of imminent deaths...

"Rubedo. Beware of Nigredo's shadow," that Executioner was still alive and kicking, after all; the primary threat to Rubedo's life. Last time he connected with the baby variant, he felt something... disturbingly familiar weaseling its way to the surface. "Think why it is... he doesn't react to U-DO," the younger looking let out a small sob, realizing this was good bye. But, really, it wouldn't be…

Angels—no, winged Kirschwassers—were descended from god knows where.

"Kirschwassers?" All a part of the grand, illusion-filled plan, to ease Rubedo's conscience. Surely, if angels were to carry Albedo off, he was to go to heaven. That's what he wanted his beloved twin to believe, at least. Granted, neither heaven nor hell were his destiny, but something far greater and more terrible.

The sound of bullets disturbed the silently, sobbing peace. Illusions here might as well been real: gloriously accomplished by U-DO. So, when a spray of bullets went through those dove-like wings, he fell. When he hit the ground, an earsplitting crack of bones was heard, and that unsuspected pain disturbed the illusion he cast on himself. The arm was gone, his torso drenched with blood, and bullets were still lodged in their target.

Rubedo froze at the sight. There was so, so much blood. He was absolutely drenched in it, and it was all his fault! Wasn't he supposed to be immortal, supposed to regenerate from... from anything? A small laugh made his mouth close and he went to say something, but it was lost. The laugh started gentle, then grew to the regular psychotic.

"You—ah..." more laughing, body unable to support itself as it slumped to the ground. "You just... you just can't let me go, can you, Rubedo?" all his plans were just blasted to hell. He didn't have enough power left to even try to finish himself off. Those escape routes from earlier began filing through his head, and he realized that he couldn't summon Simeon, because he was being reconstructed; he couldn't just walk out, because his legs wouldn't support him; and he couldn't teleport, because he didn't have enough. Every bit of his energy was trying to force him to regenerate, despite his conscious objections to it. Why couldn't his flesh just give up on life? It'd make everything so much easier.

His body _ached_, a feeling so much different than pain; dull, bothersome, endless. Pain was passionate, like hate; but aching was tedious, like loneliness. Unfortunately, despite being worn out himself, that damned little redhead was planning on holding up his promise. He planned on dragging him back to that warship he called home. He didn't realize he was still laughing until a sickeningly soft voice interrupted. His laughing morphed into quieter giggles, though he wasn't happy, he wasn't amused; he just didn't know how else to react, to the irony of his independent twin refusing to let him go.

"Jr.?" that damned guardian angel had shown up, using that terrible feline-stolen name. Not even the full name, just the secondary creation due to his "adoptive father" having the full. Honestly, who would name themselves after a cat? Granted, he himself stole his last name from an Austrian musician who was considered ancient even when Lost Jerusalem was fled. But, what's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell just as sweet. Speaking of his most beloved color...

Blood blurred his vision, and despite his best ability to push the hands away that were holding him up, he couldn't. He noticed two bodies beside him, one supporting each side; granted, the left on had a shoulder to support. Gloved figured covered that side, daring to get close to him; although, that placed Rubedo on the right side, close to his heart, and that wasn't so bad...

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><p>Honestly, what the hell was he thinking? He couldn't take Albedo back to the Durandal! Wounded or not, he would regenerate, then cause who knows what kind of havoc: kill his 100-Series, steal his emulators, hack into his system… it was just too risky. So, with a knowing glance to his angelic companion—really, what was chaos doing here?—both age-defying boys began lugging the near-unconscious warrior towards the Elsa. Honestly, it didn't take as long as the redhead expected; one moment, the pink-red of U-DO was beginning to seep in through the cracks… the next moment they were in the women's quarters on the Elsa.<p>

"chaos? How did we…"

"I thought the female's area would be better," chaos quickly interrupted, "They won't be disturbed, and we don't have any women on board right now…" the boy stared is disbelief, quickly losing his want to even ask how the hell they got here.

"That's… pretty damn good thinkin', chaos," his mind was on more important things, anyways. Like, how he was going to deal with his psychotic brother once he woke up. Being that close to death—or elaborate escape—and having his plans quite literally shot to pieces, his brother wouldn't be happy if he woke up. When. When he woke up. There was no way he was going to go through all this trouble to have his brother just… bleed out and die.

"Jr.?"

But, should he restrain him? Tie him down? That might just make him mad…

"Jr."

To hell if he's mad, it'd be better than him finishing himself off or running off.

"Jr.!"

"_What_!" the redhead finally answered, with a bit too much bite. He immediately regretted it as he saw the subtle shock in his companion's turquoise eyes. "I—sorry, chaos. I just—"

"With as much energy as you used on him, he probably won't be up on his feet terribly soon,"

"…you think?" even before his U-DO infection, he regenerated fairly easily. Like the time at the Institution…

* * *

><p><em>Unit number 623 had been the object of Albedo's rage. It certainly wasn't his fault that his Standard siblings had been infected, and did as all infected standards did; attacked anything that wasn't infected.<em>

_The Standards weren't even really allowed to fight back. Just against Gnosis, U-DO, and the assigned enemy. So, unless ordered, 623 would just have to silently take the beating; it's not like he stood a chance, anyways. 666 may have been a monster, but at least he was collared; 667 may not have been as much as a monster, but he wasn't collared. So, as the white-headed variant beat the lowly standard into a pulp, he couldn't help be a bit frightened when the collared monster and his tamer came walking over; obviously they'd come to join in the fun. Were Standards even allowed to feel fear? Not against the enemy, but they had all just experienced it. U-DO was… frightening. But their allies were…_

_To his surprise, though, the beatings stopped. Out of the corner of his swollen eyes, he could see the uniformed backs topped with red and black; the assaulter above him seemed ready to cry. Variants were so emotional; the white one had to be the most sad, the red the most mad. The yellow and black were surprisingly mellow, but when linked up with them, one could feel the onslaught of emotions they tried so hard to bury. It was pathetic for weapons to have so much feeling; the only feelings necessary were ones that helped you survive._

_If the beatings had been in the real world, the situation would have been much different. Sure, he would have had a few cracked ribs and a generally broken face, but those would heal with time. URTVs may have been disposal, but being in the 600s saved him from being tossed aside easily._

_But, the beatings weren't in the real world. They were in the Encephalon. In the subconscious domain. The domain that all the Standards shared. Which means the injuries he sustained would be placed on the brain, and affect the rest of his brothers. He was good as dead. The leader knew it. He hoped otherwise, and he would never know anyways: Dr. Yuriev had the habit of making up completely true bullshit excuses. "Died in the line of battle" can apply to about anything. /_

_Surprisingly and unknowingly to the standard, the first variant was determined not to let this happen again. He had to talk about it to his ravenous little brother._

_He wasn't even sure how to start. The redhead just glowered angrily, trying to find the words, hoping his brother would realize why he was so mad. …but doubting it. His younger twin just didn't understand such simple social expectations, if they ever were relieved of their weapon's duty, then he'd have to teach Albedo common sense. Then again, Sakura had taught the red-head most of what he knew…_

"_What?" the bratty, somewhat confused tone broke him from his thoughts. What? __What?__ Really?_

"_What were you thinking?" he just didn't understand his once symbiotic twin. "Number 623's badly injured!" oh, he understood now. Rubedo was just mad he hurt someone again. He should be happy…_

"_Hm? Is that what this is about?" he really shouldn't be angry. It was so easy to fix… "All's he gotta do is just regenerate. What's the problem?"_

"_Regenerate?" the leader was confused, but that excited, all-knowing look in his twin's eyes made him quickly regret his words. What was he planning now?_

"_Regenerate," he said like a lecture, whipping out his pistol and casually aiming it at his head. He was frozen with confusion—why was he suicidal? Was it the coldness earlier? He was just trying to teach him a lesson and…_

"_Like this," and then, like that, his head was… gone. And they screamed. Later, the variants would wonder if their middle brother heard the scream. If he did, would he then realize what terror it brought them? But, no: no head, no ears, no hearing—hell, no brain to even process sounds. A moment later, the UMN began to form around the top of his shoulders, and after a bright flash of light, the exact same head sat on those shoulders._

"_See?" he had to have done this before. Perhaps a great many times before. There was no fear in the easily frightened child, as if regenerating was a normal, everyday task._

_He didn't know how to react. He was scared, stressed, beginning the first stage of grieving falsely; he was absolutely furious._

* * *

><p>A small mumble from the bloody figure on the back bed made Jr. startle from his thoughts. chaos had wandered off to try and hold up appearances, no doubt doing his best to buy his little friend some time to… sort things out. With no clock or sun to go by, he had no idea if he was lost in thoughts for a moment or had simply dozed off for hours. Either way, the figure below him was waking up, and he still had no clue what to do with him. The albino let out a miserable groan, though it sounded more… irritated than pained.<p>

The stub of his left arm flailed a bit until the right arm took over and wiped the crimson from his vision. Narrowed amethyst eyes tried to identify where he was; it was a ship, but he didn't think it was the Durandal. He doubted the residential area was so… crowded on a large ship. Perhaps that blasted little blue ship who swept in to save the day more than once? The Elise? Yes, something like that. However, what was far more important than "where" was "who," and the white-headed was more than happy to see his twin glaring down at him with masked concern. A chuckle emanated from his lips, locking his matured eyes onto the boy's childish ones.

"Yo, Rubedo. What's wrong?" another laugh, a bit louder, that stopped short as he bit back a groan— something was grinding against his ribs. Oh, that's right. His precious little redhead had shot him rather full of holes, then refused to let him go. How cumbersomely sweet.

"Listen, Albedo…" that voice was stern. Time to lay down the law, was it? "You're not getting your way. I'm not going to kill you," it sounded like a fact, really. How ridiculous.

"Oh, is that so, Rubedo?" he kept his voice as sickeningly sweet as possible.

"Damn right it is!" oh, that fire was reignited so quickly, despite his fatigue. "I'm going to keep you here until you can fucking function, then throw you in a mental institution! Maybe they'll give you some of that damn nanotreatment, and you can sane up a bit. Then you can… you can…"

"Play house with you and Nigredo? That doesn't sound very fun at all. I'd much rather have a lobotomy done, anyhow: let's do it right now! I'm sure we could find a nice, sharp knife around here somewhere… I'm sure your hands are plenty steady, Rubedo," both variants wondered if the whitette was serious. A lobotomy might have regularly been fun, but in his current condition, it might be a bit… detrimental to his health, even if only temporarily.

"Albedo… you sick bastard!" he let out as loud of laugh as his lungs would allow, as it slowly trickled down into a giggle. "Shut up—keep your voice down! Matthews doesn't know you're here. He'd kill me if he knew _you_ were aboard his precious Elsa…" ah, so, it was the Elsa, not the Elise.

"What role would I take?"

"What?"

"In your happy little family. Your uncle, perhaps? Though black and white area bit too far away for a regular, brotherly bond. Perhaps your long last father, come to take you back from your adopted parent. I have enough sexual prowess for people to believe I'd father a child at the not so tender age of fourteen; and at such a young age, it's obvious why I would have to give up my son. And then, 14 dreadful years later, I find my flesh and blood alive and well. They could easily do a DNA to see just how similar we are, Rubedo. How our genes are nearly the _exact _same, excepts a few phenotypes reorganized to differentiate us from the non-existent standards," a small chuckle, loving his idea… and the expression on that cherubim face was priceless. Shocked, confused, intrigued, and angered.

"That's—that's so stupid!" probably because he didn't think of it. "No one would believe _you _were my dad. We don't act or look shit alike and—"

"Don't act alike? Please. They see how stubborn we both are and will immediately connect the dots. And albinism is recessive. Not that I really have that ancient condition, just lightened pigmentation on the hair and eyes,"

"But your eyes aren't—"

"White? Why, didn't you know? Most albinos have blue eyes, the pigmentation is just so thin they appear red due to the blood behind them. But, if it's just the right thickness, then they appear to be purple. And our dear old dad made it just so. Brilliant, isn't he? In his own, terribly demented way…"

"Brilliant my ass! He's dead, now. And I think all his insanity went right to you!" another loud laugh, to which the younger looking cringed. He just laughed, and laughed, and every time, it reminded Jr. of just how much insanity he had. He didn't sense terribly much U-DO energy; he'd canceled quite a bit of it out. He hoped that would help his insanity, but…

"Why am I here? You think I'm better in your frail little care than in, say, a professional? Really, all I need is enough time to regain my energy. You could have left me in that region of space, and I'd be quite alright,"

"You'd be _dead!_ That's not 'quite alright,' if you ask me! Damnit…"

"Oh? Does the dragon want his knight to be in his treasure hoard?"

"You're not my damn knight! And since when do dragons have knights? Aren't knights supposed to… kill dragons?"

"Alas, you are also my king,"

"If you were a knight, you'd listen to your king or kill your dragon! You do neither! You just piss 'im off!" a small, mocking smile crossed the twin's features, and the redhead flinched lightly at the sight of it. That kind of smile usually meant he'd thought of a perfect comeback.

"And isn't angering you my greatest attribute? Who else lets you release your rage and relishes in it? Tsk, Rubedo. You need not and do not feel guilt for hurting me, unlike all those you consider 'friends'… am I right?"

"No!" was the immediate response, as eyes darted back in forth to find a better come back. "I mean, it's true that I… enjoyed fighting you, but I… I don't want to _hurt_ you! The only reason I did as much damage to you as I did was because of your damn illusions!"

"Oh, please. As if you didn't feel my energy dissipating with every bullet,"

"I…" and he did, but it was so minute each time. Eventually the energy was so much less, but with such immense energy still seemingly under the surface, he kept on shooting and shooting…

"You?" he mocked, tilting his head which graced him with a crack. Moaned lightly, rolling his neck back and forth to be greeted with many more. The redhead cringed at the sound, grossed out at Albedo's ability to do that so easily. Maybe his bones weren't as tightly knit together?

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" of course he did, "You're so damned heavy and still me and chaos dragged you all the way here," he still wasn't sure where the Elsa picked them up at… or how they escaped Matthew's and crew's sights. But, that was another question for another day. "And you aren't even grateful!"

"Oh, you have my upmost gratitude for _shooting me_ out of the _sky_," not much humor was there, bitterness seeping into those tanned features.

"I saved your damn life!" the boy quickly returned.

"You added more years to my prison sentence, known as _immortality_!" it was times like these when Jr. almost, just almost, wished his brother would just stay psychotically crazy. When he got dark and bitter like this, he was… _too_ human, which reminded him his _real_ brother was buried in there, somewhere.

"Then how about you enjoy the years I granted you!" a bitter little scoff from his bedridden other half, nearly rolling his eyes.

"Sorry, but my brother abandoned me to a terrorist organization, where I grew up killing for a living!" a pause, that venomous glare softening back to its regular smugness. "Of course, it was nice, to see all that blood, that beautiful, wonderful crimson liquid. I wonder: if one tore your head, would the blood even be visible in those blazing locks?" he reached out his functional clawed hand in curiosity of his statement, to which the boy quickly smacked away. A loud laugh resonated, informing the return of nice, normal insanity.

"Keep your hands off of me, Albedo," Jr. gave that venomous glare, not really liking to be touched by much anyone after the Conflict.

"Come now! It's not even my bare hands, just gloriously clawed gloves," he offered his hand out again, to which the boy just stared at. 'Gloriously clawed,' indeed, they were more or less clothed razors.

"Why the hell do you even wear gloves? You're immortal, and I've never seen you sick; so, I figure you've got no reason to be germophobic,"

"'Germophobic'? If you mean mysophobia, then I do have a small case. I'm sure you have it far worse than I, though... if you mean bacillophobia, then, no; pathogens don't bother me in the least. …I like to stay clean, is all. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out of your _hands?_ I don't think you've ever been bloodstained for that long, Rubedo. You always were fond of hiding behind your guns, even when we were kids,"

"And you were always fond of beating people to a pulp, even as kids. You could never use a gun on someone else. Heh, I bet you're still scared of them, huh?"

"I do not have hoplophobia, no. After my worse fear, monophobia, came true, all the rest of my fears shriveled into nothing. And a fearless man is a very, very dangerous thing,"

"A fearful man is just as bad…"

"You would know... eh, coward?" the redhead narrowed his eyes, not liking the direction this conversation was turning. Or any of the conversations were turning: back towards him. How is it this sociopath always managed to make _him_ feel guilty, when he'd nearly wrote the book on the seven deadly sins?

"You should sleep,"

"Ah, but Rubedo, there's bullets in me,"

"Albedo, I'm tired of—"

"No metaphors, Rubedo. Many of your bullets are lodged within my body still, and I'm regenerating right over them,"

"Oh," was about all he could manage. Now, how the hell to get those out without… well, killing him. "…you should probably sleep and get some energy, first. I'll, uh, get something to dig those out with," or get something to have chaos dig it out with. He was gentler, anyways.

"Merci, mon petit roux,"

"Wh-what?"

"Bon nuit, j'adore toi,"

"What the hell does that mean?" merci meant 'thank you' and nuit meant… night? Alright, so, he told him thank you and night, but, what was all that other crap?

"Don't worry about it," a smirk was set on those lips, eyes narrowing on the enraged figure before him. Such a short, short fuse on his vicious temper.

"I'm—I'm gonna go tell Matthews I'm here. You sleep. If I'm not here when you wake up, then just call me over the…" link. Which they hadn't used in quite some time, since Rubedo sure as hell didn't want to connect with that crazy bastard, else he become just as crazy. "I'll be here when you wake up,"

"Oh, good. I would hate to be lonely," sarcasm laced his voice, meaning he was probably irritably wanting his sleep. And who could blame him? Jr., too, would want to sleep after getting filled with bullet holes. Well, he wouldn't be sleeping, per se, but… "Good _night_, Rubedo,"

"Y-yeah. Don't mess around with anything, y'hear?"

"Or what?" the boy just glared at the closed eyes of his brother, not bothering with a rebuttal.

He needed to try and explain the situation to Matthews…or find some way to better hide it.

* * *

><p>-End Chapter 1-<p> 


	2. One Step at a Time

A/N:

Bonjour! It's time! Second chapter, my loyal two fans. Before I forget, a quick call out to my first favoriter, masterthief-extrodinare; and my first reviewer, KocoBassa.

This one is technically the same page length... but more dialogue, so it's about 1000 words shorter. *shrug*

I changed my name! Dear Tylida inspired it, you see. Quite an inspiring lass, she is.

Ah... let's see... I don't have a whole lot to say about this one. The washroom scene was fun to write, though. Don't want to spoil too much! ...and I figured dear little Rubedo would be rather averse to the idea of his brother being sexual towards him, but _let's see if that doesn't change later_.

Torn between making this T or M... but, there's quite a lot of blood, so M it is. Warning, avoid if you have hemophobia? You shouldn't like Albedo a whole lot if you have hemophobia, no offense. :|

I didn't have a proofreader for this one... or, rather, after a week, I lost patience waiting for her. If any of you readers have excellent grammar and Xeno knowledge, I'd love to have you as a proofreader! Else, I'll just try being my own. Along those lines, a thank to Jeff for uploading this chapter.

Anywho, enjoy~ per usual, do review, even a few words warm my heart, and a mass ramble is all the better.

_I don't own Xenosaga or its characters._

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

One Step at a Time (Backwards)

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><p>"You have <em>what<em> on my ship?" Matthews asked, not liking the direction this conversation was taking. Little Master almost always meant trouble. If not for him, then his ship, or even his crew. (Truly, he couldn't afford to not have chaos around! Gnosis still popped up now and then, and he'd rather not be salt.)

"A… uh… fugitive?" was the nervous reply.

"Of where? From Ormus or something?" there were good fugitives and bad fugitives. It depended on what law they had broken. Was it a just law, like no murdering? Or was it an injust law, like no sleeping after noon? And a fugitive of Ormus could do something as simple as look the wrong way at the Patriarch and receive an execution sentence

"Um… no. Well, maybe. He's kind of a fugitive of… just about all government systems," oh hell. "Especially in the Miltian systems. He might have tried to… destroy a planet or so at some point,"

"Might? Little Master, I'm _really_ not likin' the sound of this. I don't want nothin' dangerous on _my_ Elsa," he looked down at the top of the other's red little head, frowning.

"Hey, now! You owe a debt to us, big enough we could probably take this ship back if we wanted to," throwing around his weight usually helped, but he didn't want to do so too much; he'd need all his charm to convince Matthews to let a 'fugitive' of basically everywhere to stay on his precious ship.

"Fine… but, you better keep 'em in line! Who is it, anyways? The only guy I can think of is—" luckily he was interrupted before the terrible question was asked.

"I'll be sure he behaves! See ya later, Captain!" the redhead waved before running out of the bridge.

"Hey, wait, Little Master…!" The boy didn't lie, right? Just… omitted the rather important truth. Looking back with a hint of a child's victory's smile, he didn't notice his taller friend in front of him until he nearly knocked him over. There was a soft laugh, chaos shaking his head.

"Jr. You really need to watch where you're going. Did you tell Captain Matthews about—" but, once again, the first variant was too quick to have the question properly asked.

"Sure did! He was cool with it, though a bit grumpy," a bit of shock splayed over the seraphim's solemn features.

"Really? I can't believe Captain would be okay with Albedo on his ship, considering he's been our main adversary these past few months…" in fact, it was virtually impossible. He wouldn't be happy with _anyone_ freeloading off his ship, especially not legitimate criminals.

"Eh… who said I told him it was Albedo? It's on a need to know basis! And chaos?" there was a pause, the angel expecting him to go on, before realizing the inquiry wasn't rhetorical.

"Yes, Jr.?" the silverette replied, a small smile set on his lips.

"Don't tell him! He'll freak! Tell him that it's… like… I don't know. The Patriarch or something! Just not Albedo!" so, in Jr.'s big book of bad, his own brother was well above the evil pope?

"I would keep your voice down if you do not wish him to know, Jr. …I won't lie for you, but I don't _know_ your brother, just his name," the red-head glared up, trying to decide whether or not he was going to keep his secret or not. A soft smile somewhat reassured him, and he returned it with a cheesy grin.

"I knew I could count on you! Now, I have one more favor to ask you…"

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><p>Somewhere, deep down, he knew he should let his brother sleep. Sleep was good for recovery, right? But, he'd been dozing for hours now, and he wanted to get this over with already. Literally ripping into someone's flesh wasn't… appealing, in the least. Luckily, he was going to have chaos do most of the work, but… still. The red-head was sad to say that, unlike all the novels he read, his twin looked not at <em>all<em> at peace while sleeping. His eyebrows twitched, he swallowed rather hard, he tossed and turned with nothing less than a growl.

"Hey, Albedo," of course soft words wouldn't wake him up. He'd be lucky if shooting him in the foot did. Damn sadomasochist. He considered actually shooting him for a moment—the thought of touching his bare flesh after all these years was a bit… disturbing, in its own way. It wasn't that his brother was repulsive or anything; if he wasn't so crazy, he'd have as many ladies wanting as Gaignun! He just didn't want to feel that natural warmth under his fingers, to know that the monster in front of him was no less human than himself. chaos gave a somewhat nervous look, not wanting to wake the sleeping beast any more than Jr. did; and hoping to U-DO that Jr. didn't ask him to. Finally, the boy gave up, reaching a hand towards his white-headed brother, aiming to shake him by the shoulders awake.

The plan was interrupted, however, by clawed fingers ripping around and gripping tight to the wrist. Claws dug into pale flesh, a few drops of blood sliding down to compare so perfectly to the locks above. A vicious and feral look was set in those violently violet eyes. It eased to amusement followed by a small laugh, his grip remaining the same.

"You about lost your hand there. Hah, mon roux sans les mains. You couldn't fire your guns then, could you? You'd have to use _your own_ power, to the fullest," that amusement turned to malice, sink his nails in deeper. With both hands regenerated by now, the other began to slink over.

The link leader panicked, whipping out a Makarov with his free hand and shooting the gripping arm. There was a small gasp quickly over taken by that loud, maniacal laugh as he plopped back down in the bed. That gripping appendage didn't loosen, however; it was stuck there like some sort of beheaded serpent. Luckily, it was only a moment later before the pink of the Unus Mundus Network evaporated the hand and it was replaced in its proper location. Well, at least the psychopath was regenerating properly again; that made the soon-to-be surgeon feel much better about his operation.

"You're such a fucking nut," the boy growled, gripping his bleeding wrist.

"As if you aren't a masochist; or is it only emotionally? Obviously it's in some way, keeping that imitation so close to you," what was he talking about? Imitation? Oh, he did _not _just…

"Leave MOMO out of this, you bastard!" he actually felt a touch of his auric flames lap up trying to escape, but he quickly suppressed them. He was _not_ that easy to crack.

"Bastard this, bastard that; come now, we both knew our father perfectly well. We _wish_ we were bastards instead of… what shall we call it… bastettes? Bastardas?" he just set an icy blue glare onto warm amethyst, hoping to break him. Neither, of course, ever would.

"Let's just get those bullets out of you," growled the dragon venomously, to which chaos gave a small frown. Was the fallen angel not going to be assisting after all? Perfect. "This is between me and him, chaos. Give me the damn knife," the redhead opened his wounded hand to receive said object, ignoring the small jolts of pain that coursed through his arm.

"Jr… you're injured," the silverette replied, setting the scalpel and a small, transparent sheet down on a nearby table instead.

"I don't give a shit! I'm going to help him—painfully!" the angel sighed, shaking his head.

"Should I leave, then?" the redhead froze a bit, eyebrows furrowing in thought. On the one hand, he didn't want chaos to see him… well, when he was with his twin. On the other hand, his twin was a psychopath who just made him bleed rather easily. Both options seemed flawed.

"…yeah, go ahead. If you hear gunshots, you better come in and save 'im. Alright?"

"Alright. …be careful, Jr.," the bedridden albino scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"What lovely sentiments. Are you two going to kiss and makeup, now?" the sarcasm was evident.

"…I swear Albedo, if you don't shut up for 5 seconds…!" he had no continuation, so was glad when interrupted… at least, until he listened to what the twin had to say.

"You'll what? Shoot me? That will just be detrimental to your own time; you'll have to spend more with me. And I know how much you've always _hated_ that…" the boy didn't really have a rebuttal, just glared a bit harder, trying to look intimidating. The man before him… was too much like his little brother for his comfort. Weak, jealous, touchy; at least, at the moment.

"…let's just get started. Lay flat and don't move," the red-head went to the table, picking up the knife and sheet. A small tap to the corner of the sheet and the screen flickered to life; easily seeing to the bone in his hand. Another tap and the picture went further in, until it was half way through the bone. He'd actually bought one of these for the _Elsa_; they were top line, but necessary considering how… dangerous he made it for the _Elsa _and crew. Sometimes nanotreatment was unnecessary and ineffective if it was just a sprain; and different kinds would be used if there were broken bones, as to not make any leg heavier than another. So, this little thing was the perfect device to see into his brother. "I'm serious. Don't squirm. I'll just leave the bullets in you if you do,"

"Fair enough, mon roux," the boy twitched, glaring upward just as he went to sit down on the side of the bed.

"What the hell does that even mean?" the link master growled, becoming annoyed with curiosity.

"Why, Rubedo, with all your love for books, I'm surprised you wouldn't learn French in order to read _The Phantom of the Opera_… as it was meant to be read,"

"There's plenty of awesome classics in English, and Phantom of the Opera has been translated,"

"Heh. About as well as Nietzsche's trilogy. Only the German was translated, none of the word plays, none of the wit, and none of the other foreign languages..."

"Who the hell is—no. _No_. Nevermind. It doesn't matter, we're getting off subject: what the hell does 'monroe' mean? Is this some sort of Lost Jerusalem joke?" a small chuckle emanated from the albino.

"Well, in French, 'mon' is the masculine form for 'my',"

"And row?" the boy asked, wanting the full definition.

"And roux means redhead," there was a triumphant smirk, quite proud of the meaning. It was _perfect_. And so was that dumbfounded, confused face his twin had as he processed the information.

"Oh," a pause, "_Oh_. No! I'm not 'your' anything, especially not 'your redhead'!"

"Ah, but you are. Who else owns you?" humans were one of the few beasts that owned others of their own species; and everyone was owned by at least one person, if not many more.

"I—and—I own myself!" wrong answer, Rubedo.

"Can a dog be its own master?" a pause, as if awaiting an answer, but begins again right before one is supplied. "No. You cannot own yourself. And since no one else dares try to control you, you must be mine," a smug smirk lit up those dark features.

"Contr—what the hell! You don't control me!"

"Be mad," he commanded quietly but sternly.

"Shut the hell up!" an embarrassed blush covered his face, realizing he just did exactly as asked. "I… you're not controlling me! You're just seeing how I feel and—"

"Predicting how you'll act, manipulating how you act, like a puppet on strings…"

"I'm not a puppet," the redhead countered, keeping his voice even.

"Oh, that's right. Ma pêche is the puppet, with everyone around her as her strings," the link master returned to glaring silence, stabbing the scalpel between his ribs before sitting on the other's waist. The white-headed one flinch just slightly, smiling ear-to-ear. So vicious.

"Oops, sorry. It slipped," sarcasm laced his voice, giving a rather childish pout.

"Naturally," was the smug reply.

"Now, hold still. And stop staring at me like that!"

"My apologies," a smirk before he closed those piercing eyes, relaxing his body and giving himself over to the forces of his most precious dragon.

* * *

><p>Albedo was surprisingly… mellow. The occasional chuckle or gasp, but kept his eyes closed with that small smile otherwise. It was hard to think he would actually behave. The red-head wasn't happy to be sitting on top of him, feeling the surprisingly warm body under him as he slid his hands into its depths and hoped his hand wouldn't get regenerated around. He always figured Albedo would be a bit colder than this after all these years; he was usually pretty cold-natured back at the Institution. Sometimes one of the many excuses was that he was cold; and the tap of his toe or the caress of his fingers would quickly prove such to be true. Perhaps he'd just grown out of it; perhaps he dipped his hands in feet in ice when he was a child to be able to snuggle up to his older brother. Both were, unfortunately, equally probable. Or even, perhaps regeneration made him warmer; that reassured him. If he was always so cold, that meant he didn't mutilate himself much… at least when he was little.<p>

"Mmm…" a small mumble broke his train of thoughts, realizing he'd stopped his mutilation while lost in thought. "Are you finished?" should he lie? Tell him he was lost in thoughts?

"Uh… I think so. Looks better, anyways. You probably need a MRI," a loud laugh was the reply, shaking his head, eyes finally slitting up with a sigh.

"Oh, yes, let's stick someone with metal in them into a _magnetic_ resonance imagery," the younger variant rolled his eyes, distraught at his twin's ignorance—or, hopefully not, stupidity.

"A CAT scan, whatever! Do you hurt anywhere else?" if there was any concern for his twin, it was well buried under snappiness and irritation.

"Me-ow. Calm yourself, Rubedo," whether he was making a terrible pun on 'cat' scan or referring to the boy's catty tone was uncertain. "…Hm. I don't _think_ so… or, more accurately, nothing hurts more than anywhere else," a small shrug. It was hard to feel one bit of pain when his whole body ached.

"You sore, too, huh?" the boy replied, surprisingly quietly.

"Oh? Is mon roux in pain? Breathe so much fire that your throat is scorched?"

"Ugh. Please, don't start," a devilish smirk, amethyst eyes locked on cerulean.

"Very well," all of his twin's mutilations faded in a mass of pink energy, leaving only crimson smears to remind the red-head of his deeds.

"Are you… okay? This is a lot of blood and…" a shiver as the twin's tongue slithered over the boy's dyed hands, lapping up his own blood. The older variant quickly jerked that hand away, glaring daggers at the figure underneath him. Honestly, the moment he thought he might be sane, might be normal, he does something like _this_. "You're so gross! Keep your tongue and your hands an-and your everything to yourself! Sicko!" slammed doubly wet fists on to the other's chest before getting up and staring at his stains. Great. How was he going to turn the faucet on without getting it bloody?

"Now you see why I wear gloves, mon roux," the now bulletless twin remarked.

"Yeah, yeah," a small snicker from the lying figure. "_What?"_

"Oh, nothing. You didn't even want me to touch you earlier, and now you're covered in my warm, sticky blood. What glorious affection," while the tone was sincere, the smirk was obviously mocking.

"It's—what? No! I didn't want to rip out something that was supposed to be in there, so I wanted to be sure to have the full feeling capacity of my hands!" and his smirk just grew.

"Is that so?" was his fuel to the inferno.

"Yes! It _is_," he bit back his rage, trying to stay level headed. "Can you walk?"

"But of course. Dare I ask why?" a white brow arced, somewhat stumped.

"Get your ass up and turn on the faucet! I'm not going to try and explain to any of the girls later on why there's blood all over it," the redhead lifted both hands for emphasis.

"Very well," the albino stated, swinging his legs around to get up—albeit, with a touch of difficulty. The blood loss was making him just a bit woozy, though quite tolerably so. Definitely tolerably slow, to help the great and mighty link master. He couldn't help but smirk as the boy led him into the bathroom, pointing to the faucet he could just barely reach. It was almost… sad, really. It was just tragic that his older brother was so immensely growth stunned by his ridiculous ability; he wouldn't have stopped so young if not for the fear of teenage years making him a rampant beast that would sink his claws into everyone. _He_ went through that stage; ah, the crimson and pearly throws of youth.

He leaned over the minute figure before him, eyes closed in a small smile as he turned on the water. "Would you like me to lift you, too?"

"Hell no!" the redhead began scrubbing and clawing at his hands, trying to get as much blood as possible off. It'd dry up and crust if he wiped it on anything. "And—ugh! We need to get you some clothes. …Matthew's clothes'll probably fit you… well, your top, anyways. I dunno who'd fit your frog legs… maybe Tony?" frog-legs? He was barely above average! How rude. He even had a decent amount of muscle in them, so they weren't skinny little sticks like frail little frogs.

"Nigredo and I should be the same size. Brothers with nearly identical genetics should have nearly identical measurements, _Rubedo_," it wasn't hard to see what he was implying.

"Look! Drop it! I'm not going to be growing any time soon! Especially not when _you're _around to wile me up," a harsh glare reflected the mirror above the sink, a frown set on his face. His hands finally decently clean, he turned off the faucet. With his brother right behind him, he didn't bother to move; not wanting to try and shove him hopelessly out of the way.

"Mm, but, you would make a beautiful adult. Just look at your family tree! Or, at least those on the same branch," not that Yuriev was hideous, they'd just always known him when he was… old. And who knows what their mothers or grandparents looked like. "Just think how many ladies love Nigredo; wouldn't you want people falling all over you? Now you just get a 'how cute' in the terms of child, and no one sees anything in you past that,"

"Shut _up, _Albedo! I already know that—but I'm not risking those I care about for my own selfish reas—" the words died from his lips before he was hit from what he knew what was coming. He began to reach for his guns, but unsuccessfully; he wasn't quite expecting was to have his head crashed into the sink while the larger body behind him pinned him against it rather hard.

"Oh? You wouldn't risk those you care about? You're not selfish? You wouldn't _abandon_ anyone, then? No matter _what_, right?" dangerous venom laced his words. It was a classic 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' scenario… as it often was with Albedo.

"We looked for y-you…!" inhaled sharply when those claws found their way onto his bicep, easily digging through his shirt and dying it red. The other gloved arm was securely around his small abdomen, pinning the opposing trigger-happy hand down easily, while his body pinned the other.

"You mean those little tingles on the mental link I held onto for dear life? Come now! You're the link _master_, aren't you? If you really wanted to, you could force a link with me. Instead you just gave these tiny little pleadings; like some woman desperately calling a man, but never leaving a message. It was despicable. Besides, think of all I learned under Sellers and U-TIC's care," the boy felt a pang of guilt, but it was ignored by the searing ever-growing pain in his chest. The only thing he learned there was how to be an absolutely merciless psychopath. Deep down, he wanted to apologize, but…

"Let go of me!" let out a small yell—disguised as pain but silently wondering why the hell chaos hadn't come bursting through the doors yet. On second observation, it seemed Albedo had pushed the door closed at some point and… did he have this all planned out?

"What's wrong? Don't like someone stealing your freedom? Messing with your plans of life or lack of?" bit his lips to hold back another scream as the physically older clamped down his teeth on his right ear and went to grinding it. The red-head mentally kicked himself for being vaguely happy he left his pierced ear alone, while the other was being ground off. The historically older opened his eyes wide to dry up the tears that threatened to appear, and rather successfully—so he thought. The chuckle beside his burning, bleeding ear told him otherwise.

"So quiet—where are your shouts and threats, now, Rubedo? Or, what, do you fear death? As a weapon, you're not supposed to. I fear the lack of death—and you steal my ability to cope! And you have the nerve to fear death—shall I steal your ability to cope?" that hand snaked from bicep to throat, claws digging in barely past the surface; just enough for a few drops of blood to go sliding down to pool in his clavicle. Amethyst eyes burned into his reflection, a conniving smile on his face.

"G-get off…" a loud laugh, shaking his head; at least it broke that damn stare.

"Mm, I don't think so," a pause, hand sliding up a bit more to pet his cheek in a reversed fashion. "You know…" claws ever so lightly sunk into skin, enough to cause red irritation but not crimson pain. "…others may see you as a cute kid, but I see you as a beau bête,"

"A wh-what?" a deep laugh—he felt it go from his captor to himself, shaking his insides—followed by him leaning down to smell the others hair.

"Mm, and I do think the scent of rage suits you better than fear; not that the latter is bad. But, it's not fitting to one so red and passionate, to have such an introverted feeling, Rubedo," a sigh, shaking his head in distress before letting the other go, stepped back, and left the bathroom in one, swift move.

The boy was left alone, staring at his bleeding reflection in the mirror, shuddering. His hand reached up to his neck, glad that the marks weren't deep there. He washed his neck a few times until it stopped bleeding, rubbed his cheek to get the soreness down, and then swallowed when he looked at the expanding patch of red over his chest. He didn't _want_ to see how deep it was. Too deep, and he'd have to have chaos heal it, and then chaos would be sympathetic and… he just couldn't stand to have other's sympathy. Rubedo, the selfish center of attention was dead; what remained was selfless, charitable Gaignun Kukai, Jr. He told himself this over and over again, that he didn't deserve to be hurt. The one that abandoned Albedo doesn't exist anymore. He didn't deserve the claws that were buried in his chest, the hissing venom, or the bleeding coming from… everywhere. His hand jerked up to his right ear, forgetting the poor, abused part; the blood was already dried, or had vanished in his red locks.

The red-head let out a long, shaky sigh, finally removing his shirt to inspect the damage. He must have resisted more than he though, because the first thing he saw was the bruise developing above his hips where Albedo's arms gripped him tightly. The far more dire concern was the profusely bleeding bicep, which despite all the blood, could still be seen as five distinct holes. He, childishly curious, stuck a figure into one of the holes, to find it went all the way up his nail. Not immediately fatal, but the blood loss and infection afterwards definitely could be. Blood loss? That probably explained his vague dizziness, nausea, and increasingly spotty vision.

He tried to turn around to go lay on his bed, but the moment his grip was off the sink, he began to slide down. He must have shouted something—probably profane—because before he knew it, tan legs met his vision. Tracing them up to their source, he saw frozen in shock, for once in a good decade, his other half. And then everything blurred out of control until those black spots became a black out.

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><p>-End Chapter 2-<p> 


	3. Double Beatings

A/N:

I... don't really have anything to say~~

Hm. More of you need to review, man! I don't think I have terribly many readers, but even a "good job" or "more chapters!" review would be fine. It'd let me know there were readers, y'know~?

Anyways, as I said, don't really have anything to say. Any comments or complaints, you know who to go to.

Frère Jacques tune belongs to France and it's beautiful language, silly culture, and frightening songs. Have you heard their coocoo song? It's... god. It's messed up.

And Xenosaga's characters belongs to Namco and the like.

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><p>Chapter 3<br>Double Beatings

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><p><em>It felt so right. All the stress and pains of life had just melted away. All that mattered was the light but powerful rhythm in his chest. Both rhythms, for once in much too long, were equally strong and in sync…<em>

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><p>Cerulean eyes opened quickly before snapping shut and refusing to look at that blinding light again. Unfortunately, he couldn't just go eternity blind, so he slowly opened half of one eyes, squinting to keep most the light out. He was in the women's cabin on the Elsa, lying dangerously close to the edge of a bed. When he went to get up, he was restrained; a quick glance brought the knowledge that there were hands gripping around his abdomen. They were tan, lithe… chaos? So, he must have heard him yelling and came to help.<p>

"Thanks, chaos..." an idle glance back froze the very blood in his veins. Albedo. Gripping his abdomen—again. Just like he did when he was damn-near _murdering_ him just a few moments ago. …or, really, whenever it was, if he'd fainted, it could have been longer. After all, it seemed Albedo was actually wearing pants—tight, pristine white with black checkers near the legs. No doubt they were actually his, but when or where he got them from, he had no idea.

Now, the real question was how to get him _off_. He could shoot one arm, but his brother could probably regenerate before he could shoot the other—and that would wake him up. He could try and pry them off, but his brother was physically much strong—and that would wake him up. He could go Red Dragon and burn them off, but his brother would enjoy that too much—and that would wake him up. He was running out of options and…

A groggy voice broke in, cheery despite the tiredness lacing it. "Frère beau bête, frère beau bête…" the grip increased "Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?" and began to pull him closer, "Sonnez les matins, sonnez les matins…" gave a deep inhale of his scent, "Ding dang dong. Ding dang dong," and let him go. Wait, what?

"You… ugh! What the hell?" the redhead scrambled off the bed, arming himself with both pistols, releasing the safety, and cocking them back.

"So quick to unsheathe your claws, my draconic king," a small chuckle, shaking his head.

"Shut u—"

"Rubedo. I'm glad to see you up and moving so quickly," there seemed to be some honesty, some concern and truth to that statement… but the fact that _he_ was one of the causes of the problem rather countered any sentimental value it might have.

"You… you're a fucking psychopath! Agh…" dropped one of his guns and his hand went to his chest, cursing lightly under his breath.

"Now, now. Don't get so worked up; and especially don't yell. Shakes your little body too much," a rather prideful smirk, but it was missing its usual boldness. "…Rubedo, you should lie back down…" gestured to the vacant spot beside him.

"Like hell I'm sleeping beside you! You just about ripped me a new one! Those holes were nearly an inch deep an-and…!" and he was scared to hell he'd do it again, or finish the job in his sleep.

"And you need to rest," the older looking got off the bed, gesturing to the now empty area. "My hopeless other half," a small, mock bow before the redhead pushed past him and laid down, glaring.

"…where are your gloves?" the redhead stared at those bare arms, frowning.

"Mm? Oh…" looked up in thought for a moment before smirking. "After bandaging you up, I went right to sleep. Didn't bother to put them back on. And, besides, I wanted to ask you which color you preferred," Which _color?_ How the hell many did he have? They were gloves!

The albino was investigating his nails, when Jr. glared at them, and turned his head. No claws. They were sharp, sure; the whites of the nails made perfect little equilateral triangles. But, they weren't nearly as bad as the glove's claws, those monstrous things that ripped into his flesh not too long ago.

"Your nails…" he gestured lightly towards them, sighing and keeping his hand over his bicep. It was still hurting like hell with each pulse of his double hearts, but was manageable.

"Are human. And perfect, if I do say so myself," all the variants were rather prideful individuals, especially in the areas of their appearance. And why not? They were genetically engineered children; anything unappealing was eliminated before birth.

"…why the hell did you do that?" the boy growled, glaring daggers.

"Honestly, Rubedo, you're so vague. Why did I do what? Why did I hurt you? Mend you? Care what color you like? I'm guessing it's green. The _girl's_ eyes were green, and your best friend's eyes are a bit green as well. And you chose Nigredo over me, so there must be something there. And when we fought the other day you were wearing lime green pants… and you're so envious of other's stature. Yes, green must be it!" a small laugh, nodding to himself as if he figured out some great puzzle.

"Shut up! My favorite color doesn't matter, what I want to know—"

"Aw, do you not have a favorite color? Some people just don't. You are pretty vain, so I guess red might be an option… but, no. You hate the red about you, even if it's part of your every being. That's why red is my favorite color. …mm, and just think, red and white together, we make that adorable little pink you treasure so_ dearly_," that vaguely jealous tone was back, though subtle.

"My favorite color is _not_ pink," the redhead growled back.

"So, you do have a favorite color…" the whitehead deduced.

"Well, yeah, but—hey! Whoa, not again. No. Why the hell did you rip me apart then put me back together?" the oldest finally managed to get out, thoroughly flustered it took so long.

"You reminded me of unpleasant memories: I thought it best to punish you. Don't you feel better, being punished for your sins? Repentance!" spread out both arms, tilting his head up; so reminiscent of when he began to drift off to the sky so shortly ago… quickly looked back down, eyes locking on to their target.

"You almost killed me!" the boy raged at his almost-killer.

"Please. As if the Red Dragon is so weak to die from a few sword wounds,"

"The dragon'll sure as hell die from poison-tipped arrows!" the white-headed variant raised a brow, surprised at his older brother for picking up his metaphors. How wonderful. A sick smile crossed his features, straightening his posture.

"No," was the simple reply, shaking his head. "That isn't right. Everyone knows that dragons have tough scale that arrows cannot pierce. No, poisoned daggers perhaps; or even rabies of a wild beast. Though, the latter would be better if I bit you, rather than—oh! I did bite you some. How is the ear going?" a rather loud, amused laugh, but it was cut short; and replaced with a rather serious glare. "But, not arrows; what a ridiculous notion," the redhead just gaped, no clue how to reply. He felt insulted, but was he really going to argue about something like this? He'd read _way_ more stuff with dragons in it than Albedo! …hadn't he? He read a lot more than Albedo, he figured; but, he was quoting the classics so often, maybe between his mass murders, he was reading and memorizing even more than the redhead. The thought was somewhat a blow to his pride, and he immediately wanted to go to Second Miltia: to Jin's book shop.

"What the hell ever! There's scaleless dragons, too! They're way more lithe and still kick ass,"

"Don't those tend to be gray or other, equally dull colors? I'm speaking of a red dragon—passionate, brilliant red. Their scales are strong as the rubies they devour for protection," damnit. He did read as much as him. What sort of random fact could prove his superiority in this literary battle? "I wonder what your rubies are, Rubedo… the souls of those you killed?"

"Nu-uh. I don't have any rubies, which is why my scale is thin and able to be pierced by arrows. So, hah!" despite still lying down, and much too sore to get up, he still tilted his head in superiority. He won. There was no possible come back, he'd been proven right and—

"So, you're admitting you have terribly low defenses? Tsk, Rubedo. We must work on those…" the redhead glared, unhappy to have lost their verbal duel. The only things he could say in rebuttal were just straight-up mean, and he'd feel guilty for them afterwards; mudslinging wasn't his forte.

"…are you just going to stand there all day?" the link master frowned, staring at the steady figure all-but hovering over him. He wouldn't be able to sleep, knowing a predator was lurking.

"You would make a most delicious prey, Rubedo…"

"Stay the hell out of my head, Albedo!" the twin shrugged nonchalantly.

"I wanted to know why you were so upset about me watching you sleep," the albino stated.

"It's creepy. And you're—you're looking at me in the conniving way of yours!" a loud laugh resonated, and the boy reached up to cover his ears, and screw his eyes shut. He just laughed and laughed and it was so damn annoying! He felt the weight shift on the bed and tore his eyes open to see his brother climbing back in it. "No! Nu-uh! Sleep on another bed or the floor or something! I already told you I didn't want to sleep with you, we're too old to—" wait. That wasn't the issue. He was a psychopath that would kill him in his sleep, _that_ was the reason. So, why was he trying to shove him out like a kid…

"Won't you quiet down? I'm trying to get my gloves. I just saw them lying behind you," picked up said lavender gloves, shaking them at the other a few times for good measure. "Honestly, Rubedo. You seem almost embarrassed. Are you thinking naughty things?" a wide, conniving smirk, tapping him on the nose with ungloved finger. Those cerulean orbs tried reading the other amidst their own confusion, a blush covering his cheeks at the mere notion.

"Of course not! Ugh! You're always so demented and…" his words were silenced by a velvet tongue sliding along his parted, speaking lips. Froze for a moment, eyes wide; then, shoved the other off, hoping off the bed himself. "I'm—you…!" he couldn't handle him by himself. He was too long gone, for much too long. Sanity? That had to be a bad joke to the psychopath. Eyed the door before deciding to run to it, only to be whisked off the ground a moment later by his brother.

"So impatient, Rubedo! How are you me?" snickered more to himself than the other.

"Let me go! That wasn't what I meant!" the boy raged back.

"Mm… this is getting a bit old…" dropped the redhead a good two feet, luckily landing on his knees before hands then face. "Go on, then. Go running to your petit ange. He won't help _us_, he'll just help himself, help the world, but not _us_. He will only complicate things further," the first variant finally got on his feet, backing up a bit.

"Albedo… you need help," he couldn't mask the sorrow in his voice. He didn't _want_ him to need help; he was his brother! He should be able to fix him…

"Only the flame of your rage can help me… my draconic king," got down on one knee, bowing as a hero ready to be knighted.

"You need professional help!" the boy raged, wanting to force his brother up, "Stop bowing to me!"

"Is that an order, link master?" he didn't move from his subservient position. He was still as the statue he sat on in the Song of Nephilim. The so-called link master did not want to order him. He wasn't their leader anymore! Well—he was—but… but there was no Yuriev Institute left to give them their missions.

"I…"

"You?" the albino mocked yet again.

"As your link master, I say stop bowing to me! Get the hell up!" at least he didn't have to say 'order' or 'command,' but he still felt like shit.

"As you wish," and the amethyst-eyed man was standing at his full height, staring down at the other with a strange look. It looked almost like amusement but… warmer?

"And stop it with the creepy stares!" maybe he could get a lot out of him in this moment when he was actually _listening_.

"Yes, sir," the albino nearly mocked, reaching up and resting a hand on his eye. The redhead was about to roll his eyes, thinking his brother was going to pull the typical 'I won't look at you, then' routine. His irritation quickly turned to horror when that resting hand began releasing blood as the white-headed dug into his eye.

"S-stop it…" he wanted to yell and scream, but the sight was just too terrible. It was but a moment later that his not-currently-regenerating brother offered his lord his left eye, gaping hole gushing blood from its socket. "I—I don't… I don't want that!"

"Tsk… make up your mind, mon roux. I went through all that effort to stop my staring, and you refuse my allegiance? So very cruel…" crushed the eye in his hand, to have it regenerate seconds later; his vision and _son visage_ coated in blood.

The look on that cherubim face was perfect. He looked scared, mad, confused, disgusted. And was that pride, joy under the surface? Just past the false blue, hidden in the swarm of burning red. Yes, yes; it must have been. His precious redhead must have been happy, for such a strong display of his affection. While he was able to regenerate, he liked to think even if he was perfectly mortal, he'd do the same. If he was perfectly mortal, his body would be a testament to Rubedo; he would carve his name in him, over and over. He would make sure that a dragon was scarred into him, in painful, infected red; that its flames would be burnt with real fire. It would be _glorious_. But, alas; he was terribly, terribly immortal, and all that effort would be for naught. Before he could say 'look!' it would fade into wisps of U-DO's pink, then into absolutely nothing but the blood left behind. Such a shame…

"You're so twisted!" the strained shout broke him from his thoughts. "Don't you ever do that again!" ah, bittersweet memories. Bitter from the salty tears, sweet from the caring embrace.

"Oh? Does it upset you?" the white-headed variant chuckled lightly.

"It's—don't mutilate yourself!" the boy half-shouted, honestly unsure how to deal with this. It was just like when they were little, and—and…

"Such a weak stomach, mon roux… how fitting for—"

"None of your damn analogies! Shut up! This isn't funny! I don't—I don't like seeing you hurt or hurting yourself or whatever! If you want to make me happy, you sadistic bastard, then don't do it!" insanity just stared at him, a wisp of U-DO trailing behind his recently regenerated eye. Right. He needed to approach this gently. "Why did you do that?"

"Why, Rubedo: you told me to stop staring, so I removed my ability to," it was simply stated, as if a fact. Like if you told a child to stop talking and duct-taped their mouths.

"Why didn't you just _stop_, instead of forcing yourself not to?" always the reasonable one.

"I cannot take my eyes off your sublime form, mon beau bête," the younger cooed, reaching a hand out to pet those crimson locks. Though, naturally, claws quickly swat him away, teeth baring with threats.

"What the hell is your problem? No, sorry, _excuse me_, what the hell _isn't_ your problem? Ugh. Are you going to let me go talk to chaos, now? I'm damn hungry, and he'll give me some food. Us, I guess—anything you hate?"

"I will take anything you offer me, mon petit roux," the redhead rolled his eyes before leaving, rudely and purposefully turning out the lights as he left.

* * *

><p>He needed to tell someone. In case he went missing, or died, or—or something. Gaignun seemed like the perfect choice, but he'd never allow this! He knew how obsessed Albedo was; he knew the albino would do anything to make the redhead his own. <em>Anything<em>. That worried them both, but to Rubedo, it was somewhat reassuring; any and everyone else was on Albedo's "to kill" list. But, he wasn't; he would kill the world to keep him safe. It wasn't a very happy thought, but it did make him feel a bit more… immortal when he was with him. The fear of death lessened. It was a good feeling, and just reminded him how little he understood his younger brother. You could always make new friends, right? Though, Sakura's death still hurt and…

Well, point was, Albedo wouldn't kill him—not on purpose, and he was too skilled to do so on accident. But, maul him? Permanently disable him? Rip his arms off? Those were all strong possibilities. He would live to be his brother's plaything, no more; a doll like those obsolete Realians that followed him around. But, his life would be empty and neverending; his brother wouldn't allow him a merciful death, any death. He'd have to kill him first, before himself… and that's exactly what he would want. Wants.

The more he thought, the more a quick link to Gaignun seemed like a good idea. He could tell him, throw around his position as link master, and ignore his youngest sibling's pleas. …but, for some reason, a link was hard to make. Link something was blocking him. A few more rather forceful pushes and he broke through. It didn't really… _feel_ like Gaignun though. Maybe he was just tired? Maybe Albedo's proximity was messing it up?

"_G… gaignun?"_

"_I'm kind of busy right now. Can we talk later?"_ this rudeness he… basically never got from him. It didn't matter how busy either were, they took the time out to talk for a few minutes. But, it was Gaignun. The wavelength matched up, even if it was erratic. Was he fighting with someone? He seemed a bit nervous and…

"_I'm fine, Jr. __…just t-tired. Is it urgent? Is everything okay?" _Hell yes it was urgent, hell no everything wasn't 'okay'! He had a psychopath in his room! …but, if he was so stressed, there had to be something wrong, and he didn't want to add any more stress…

"_Nah, ever__ything's cool. Just haven't heard from you in a while… we handled the space-time anomaly shit pretty well. Albedo appeared, but escaped. As always." _How he hated lying. And expected to get caught, but that was half the point. Then his brother would know, but not be too worried. Right?

"_Ah, I'm glad you're alright… as I said, I'm really… busy…"_

"_Yeah, sure thing! You kick that paper's ass!"_ there was no wave of amusement, no laugh, no vague irritation. The link was just cut, cleanly, and the redhead was left staring at a wall in confusion. There was hardly _any_ emotion over the link, in fact; as if the baby variant was trying to hide what he was feeling. Maybe he already knew about Albedo, and it was bothering him? Well, whatever, if he already knew, then it was for the best. Besides, next time he saw Gaignun, he could check on him personally.

* * *

><p>Sometimes he questioned whether the Elsa's meals should even be called "food." He might accept "gruel," but "food" was definitely pushing it. One would think, after all these years, someone on the Elsa would be a good cook—or, even, maybe they'd hire one! They were already in pretty deep debt already, though. …they only had chaos on board to save their asses upon being attacked. Otherwise, they would just have a captain, navigator, and pilot; anymore wasn't needed. Of course, even if all Gnosis disappeared, the Elsa crew couldn't part with any of its members, especially not the conflict-resolvent glue that chaos had become.<p>

The boy decided to pass on any of the meals, and get some prepackaged snacks instead. Having very limited food choices at the Institute, he had no idea what Albedo liked; everything they had was high-nutrition, dense, healthy _shit_, topped with protein shakes or water. Ick. The snacks were in the back room, where only official crew members were supposed to go… but, the variant gathered they were in enough debt that every scrap was off his company's dime. No guilt. He grabbed some fruit—two apples, a bunch of grapes, but refused to grab the peach or cherries; he knew enough about language and Albedo to know that his _delightful_ little brother would make plenty of jokes about it. Passed on the bananas and kiwis as well, no wanting any sexual jokes after his lips had so recently been molested. So, apple and grapes. Safe, right? He looked through his mind and the only issue he could find was their color. But, between his friends and siblings, they covered just about every color of the rainbow, so that wasn't avoidable. Grabbing some crackers and digging to find the cheese, he returned with his small array for lunch. Or dinner. Or whatever.

On his way back, he was happy to have found chaos, and probably would have hugged him for being a non-Albedo human… if not for his hands being full.

"You look rather weighed down there…" that melancholic smile was quickly set on his lips, and the boy glared a bit. If Albedo was sane, would he be like this? Quiet, introverted… less muscular? There was only about a head difference in height, and he couldn't help but think that if he didn't break the link, maybe Albedo would be more like chaos. Maybe they could hang out, just be brothers, friends. And if he hadn't broke the link, they wouldn't have been separated, and Westermarck Effect would have properly occurred, and that damn albino wouldn't have…

"Jr.?" the seraph was getting a bit worried by the silence.

"Huh? Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about how I brought a ton of stuff for me and Albedo to eat. I don't even know if he does eat anymore…" the redhead frowned, shifting his weight.

"He may be immortal, but he would still need calories in order to function…" Oh, logic. Why'd he have to make so much damn sense?

"You should come and eat with us, just in case," the angel would really rather not get involved in a brotherly feud. Even if Albedo was right about something, if he took his side instead of Jr.'s in anything, Jr. would hold a grudge. But, Albedo holding a grudge may involve quite a bit of blood; he'd rather avoid the latter. But, there wasn't really a polite way to refuse.

"I'm not all that hungry, Jr…"

"Then come watch us eat! That'll make you hungry! Have you even ate yet?" it was only one in the afternoon, so he hadn't had lunch yet...

"Well, no…" and the next thing he knew, he had a box of crackers and a block of cheese in his hands, Jr. grabbing him with his free hand and half-dragging him back to the women's quarters. This wasn't going to be fun in the least…

* * *

><p>The link master quickly regretted turning off the lights the moment the automatic door opened. He figured, surely, Albedo would turn them back on… but he didn't. He let go of chaos and tried to flip on the light switch to no avail—it wouldn't come on, and after quite a few flips back and forth, the fizzle of a light dying was heard. They were <em>supposed<em> to last for multiple lifetimes—he'd overseen the Elsa construction—but, that seemed to be a lie. A certain company was in for a Jr.-sized rage. Light chuckling answered the question of who had most likely caused the premature power outage.

"You brought a friend, eh, Rubedo?" his tone was disgusted—and for good reason. He didn't want that angel here. That messed up most his plans for the next hour. He was going to start by taking all the food from Rubedo, then eating it slowly until the beautiful little variant went to object for being sexual or something along those lines. Then, he was going to shove the smallest piece of food down his throat until he choked and coughed, begged for relief, then he'd save him, and begin to choke him himself. It was a perfect plan. But, now, this relic was going to save him if he tried to do that. How troublesome.

"He helped me drag you outta the space-time anomaly!" oh, right, he'd almost forgotten about his dragon's frail upper bottom strength.

"Hmph. So, he's partly to blame for me being alive and well?" The redhead almost told him he better be thankful before catching that bitter, bitter tone. Why was he so bent on death? He was alive, now! Rubedo was here, now! Isn't that all he wanted? To be with him? He finally found the other, a living nightlight, with bits of U-DO wisps trailing this way and that.

"Shut up and eat your damn food," the redhead threw an apple as hard as he could, hitting the younger variant square in the stomach. There was a loud grunt that indicated he managed to hit him, but it was followed by a laugh… which also meant he managed to hit him.

"Mmm, so violent. Your red, bleeding heart is as hard as an apple… but it's been bruised by loss and infected by the worms of peace, making it soft and vulnerable…" there was a loud crunch of the perfectly grown apple, juices sliding down his forearm and off his elbow.

"Goddamnit, Albedo! If you didn't like apples, then just tell me! I bet chaos would have loved one. Now he won't get any!" the seraph couldn't help but notice the second apple that the variant had for himself, a small chuckle at his childish selfishness.

"Oh? Sorry to have deceived you, I adore apples," licked from his elbow to wrist before slurping up some of the crushed fruit. Continued devouring it with slurps and laps, as his brother stood in frozen awe, a blush set on his face. "Hm? Something the matter?"

"N-no…! I just think you're being gross, eating like that. I mean, really! I figured you would have better manners, being all suave and shit," a small shrug, reaching his sticky but visibly bare hand out to the other. The boy flinched at the movement, taking a step closer to chaos, closer to protection.

"Hmph! I'm leaving," the white-headed variant rather suddenly announced, standing up to his full height, towering over both of the others.

"Wait! Albedo…" the boy was shocked at the tinge of desperation in his own voice, quickly covering it up with a scowl. "Like hell you're leaving! I told you, I'm taking you to a mental institution, to get you some damn help!"

"And, 'like hell' I'm doing that. I don't have any curable problem, Rubedo. My problem ends with one of our deaths," one of…? Was the boy not as safe as he thought?

"What do you mean one of our deaths?"

"My main two problems is that I'm living and that you eventually won't be, Rubedo" no sweet talking, no smooth voice, just cold, hard facts. "See you around, mon beau bête. It's been fun playing house with you, even if for a short while," a small laugh as he stood, an anomaly appearing beside him.

The redhead suddenly realized the other was leaving, to set up another elaborate plan; the next time he saw him, it was going to be to fight. The next time he saw him, he might actually kill him. The next time he saw him… might never come. "Albedo…!" the rage in the yell far covered up any traces of desperation, but his target was gone. The red flames of his power began to bubble under the surface, snarling at the remnants of U-DO, growling at the lack of target; sighing when a gloved hand was placed on his shoulder gently, jerking away when his name was called, and lying down when his occasional savior frowned.

* * *

><p>-End of Chapter 3-<p> 


	4. Omniscient

A/N:

My apologies for the late update! What's that? You didn't know it's late? Why, I have a very exact formula for updates. Can you figure it out?

I've actually have this finished for quite some time, but... my update day was busy, so I had to wait until the next one. I'm nearly done with Chapter 6 (which Freya and Tangram would be happy with). Whoa, I'm talking of the future! Make the insanity stop!

Anyways, did you know I love/hate Wilhelm? I do. Same with chaos. I also love/hate the pairing of Wilhelm/chaos! Hahah... but, ah, they'll subtle pairing if any, in this story. I ramble, per usual.

I'm sorry if this chapter's a bit slow, too... but, after drought, there's rain!

Per usual, please review! Even a small comment means the world to me.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<br>Omnipotent Knowledge

* * *

><p>"No," the smooth, monotone voice of Wilhelm rung in his ears. That terrible, horrible tone always managed to pull him out of his U-DO and fear-induced insanity, to get smacked with a face full of reality. He hated him. So much. But, it was rather common to hate divinities; they either didn't help enough or controlled too many aspects of your life. This particular divinity posed as <em>human<em>, though; cyborg, more accurately. How else to describe hundreds, thousands of years of life? "I cannot allow that," again, that flat voice like sandpaper against his ears, his mind. There was never anything behind that voice: no rage, no sorrow, no stress, no fear, not even superiority! He wanted to shake him, scare him, force some reaction or tremor from those blank vocal cords. But, alas; it would be to no avail.

"Why?" was about all the reply he could muster. Insanity didn't exist here. Nothing existed here; just two wills, both trying to consume and manipulate the other. Unfortunately, one had infinite more experience, despite the other's skill.

"Simple. Because you are here. Living, breathing before me. Not much of a Romeo when you've yet to take the poison," always in terms of actors; that kind of 'insanity' was very easy to deal with.

"I think I'd be a much better Hamlet; he knew of the poison; though still fought, nearly hoping for it in his descent to madness and depression," and Rubedo, dear Rubedo, he would be his Ophelia; begging him to come back to sanity. But, Rubedo wasn't suicidal… no, perhaps Rubedo would play a far better Hamlet, him the loyal Ophelia instead.

"You do not have much of an Ophelia…" he tardily reminded him.

"Nor a Juliet," he countered; no one would accompany him gladly to death.

"Your followers would all die for you," ah, the Kirschwassers.

"I wouldn't die for all of them," he remarked with a small smirk. They were disposable, so terribly and wonderfully disposable. At one point, he cared for their company and comfort, but now…

"So very cold. Where are they?" enraged amethyst eyes glared at cold fiery ones. If Virgil didn't report it, he'd have looked at his half-broken, still all-knowing compass. It sat so uselessly on his desk, as if it were a paper weight. If he just knew how to read it, he'd steal it in an instant for himself, use it to manipulate _his_ Rubedo more efficiently. It's not like it took much thought to find out what happened to his fake little women, anyways. They would die if he merely asked them to! But, he never asked them to; he just killed them. One by one, with the last sitting safely absorbed into his dear Simeon. Speaking of which…

"Your E.S.'s reconstruction is complete. However…" Albedo mentally cringed, keeping a mask of uninterested indifference. Wilehlm's 'howevers' were often followed with orders or terms, some sort of catch. The man turned to his compass with a small, almost tired sigh. But only almost.

"My Compass merely predicts what is likely to happen; and I cannot account for U-DO. The space-time anomaly you created was of U-DO origin, and in the end… your manipulation of the stage and its players was poor. I didn't expect you to come back alive," that was the plan, after all. His dragon's flames were to consume even his phoenix ashes.

"I can't control what my brother does or doesn't do!" he was _not_ going to lose his E.S. He went through hard work to obtain its Anima from Vector's little high-security vault. It was actually how he and Wilhelm met in the first place… apparently, he felt he could trust the URTV with his secrets. Who would believe a ranting, insane, U-DO infected psychopath, anyways?

"I know," of course he knew; he knew _everyth__ing_. It got on his nerves. "And so I've arrived at two options which you can pick," stood up from his desk, walking over to look out the window. The Dämmerung was huge; that's all there was to it. It was bigger than the Durandal, possibly bigger than the whole Kukai Foundation. Just one, giant, floating company; complete with CEO nestled on the inside, with the best view. There was silence for what seemed like hours as the variant awaited his options. Silently. Always silently; Wilhelm liked the silence, and to stay on his 'good side,' one needed to stay quiet. He honestly doubted it had been more than a few minutes since they last spoke, but in space, time is a bit hard to tell. Finally, with the quietest clearing of his throat, he began to speak. "Either you can take the remodeled E.S., weaponless, and modify it yourself, or… we can reconstruct your old E.S. with everything you left on it," both options didn't seem too bad; and it made him giddy with how powerful the weapons were to be on his future E.S., _i__f _he ever managed to make it to Testamenthood.

"How about…" a smirk rose on his lips, "I take the remodeled version, and you give me the old version's old parts. Then, I'll integrate them together. Hm?"

"That sounds acceptable… though, most of the parts are not compatible. I was planning on selling them, and giving you the profit in order to buy new parts, but…" he always thought every damn thing through. It sickened him; and also impressed him, if only a little.

"Fine. I'll take Option 1," the albino bit his lip to lessen the urge to roll his eyes.

"I'm glad you agree with me," a forced smirk returned in order to try and counter the force of the other's blank, emotionless smile. It didn't work, and he was soon glaring.

"Well?" the variant finally barked out.

"Hm?" was the mock-confused reply.

"When do I get Simeon back?" he nearly growled, sickened by his own sanity.

"Soon," was the soft reply, but before the white-head could jump at the other and rip out his jugular, he continued. "First, there's something I'd like to talk to you about…"

* * *

><p>"He hasn't done anything in days, chaos," the ancient boy humbly listened, leaving a soft, melancholic smile on his face. He got to hear this a few times a day, but didn't mind; it was almost sweet, the concern. Well, not exactly concern, per se… "He's gotta be plannin' somethin'! Somethin' bad… you <em>sure<em> MOMO's okay?"

"I contacted Ziggy this morning, Jr. Besides, Albedo has nothing to gain from MOMO anymore. He stole the Y-Data, remember?" he let the logic set in for a moment before continuing. "You didn't see him for fourteen years, Jr. Then he comes out of nowhere for a few days to do U-TIC's dirty work… and now he's gone back to nowhere. I believe that seeing you was just a benefit of his now-completed mission…"

"But… but I…" chaos placed a gloved hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him.

"I know, Jr.," of course he knew; he knew _everything_. It was kind of reassuring. "But you may have to accept you won't see him again for a very long time," the softness of his voice stopped his rage before it could start, depressing him instead. He was probably right. He might never get to see him again; and he still couldn't make amends after all these years!

"I've been cooped up in this little ship forever! Are we near a spaceport? I'm getting cabin fever! And I really need to stretch my legs…" the angel laughed lightly at his currently-standing friend, acting like they were in a cramped little mech or transport. The Elsa was a _luxury_ cruise ship; there was more than enough room to travel about.

"We are planning on landing on one today. Most of the crew is coming down with a case of 'cabin fever', having to deal with one another for so long. Hammer has too many bruises on the back of his head, and Tony's out of adrenaline from all his crazy stunts. We may be staying for a few days, to relax and get away from one another. I vouched to let you stay with me, instead of one of the others… if that's okay with you," he didn't have much better options, and he definitely wasn't going to leave his friend alone.

"Sure thing, chaos. …but, uh, who do you usually stay with?" he was so relaxed, it could be anyone. But, the other two were so hot-headed, they couldn't be with anyone.

"I usually stay with Hammer, since he gets abused pretty bad by the other two. …unintentionally, of course. They're just too rough, especially when… well, drunk," the thought of a drunk _anyone_ was disturbing, but a drunk Tony was terrifying. He'd already done crazy as hell stunts (that they somehow managed to survive), and a drunk Tony would be even worse! He would have been piloting the Elsa through the halls on the Song of Nephilim. Though, that might have made things easier…

"When'll we get there?" the boy questioned, wanting off as fast as possible.

"Soon," the redhead opened his mouth to object to the vagueness before he heard a faint chuckle. "Some time after lunch, Jr. We're already out of the UMN Column, but there's still a little ways to go before we reach the space port," It was their subtle defense against Gnosis and enemy gate-outs, though it made it a bit more tedious to reach.

"Alright, alright… man. I'm not hungry. I think I'll go take a nap. Wake me before we get there, okay?"

"I'll do my best. Rest well…" the redhead grumbled a bit with a wave, covering his yawn with the free hand. Sleep would do him good: hopefully.

* * *

><p>The spaceport was a surprisingly big one. There was enough room for dozens of ships and mechs, with AMWS and AGWS lining the docks. The Elsa fit in just fine, though a bit more, well, <em>blue<em>, then the more old, color-worn ships. The area seemed up-and-up enough, but Tony insisted on staying behind none the less. He was quite fond of the Elsa, after all; and Hammer was the one that knew what all repair parts they needed.

Captain Matthews mumbled something about needing a 'real' drink, and went careening off to find a bar. No doubt they had one somewhere. Hammer and chaos spoke of who should get what, when, what quality, and from where. They ended up deciding they should find the cheapest hotel around, and that they could discuss the exacts latter. Window shopping tended to reminded one of what they needed, anyhow. The link master sighed, already bored. He couldn't just go running off until they checked into the hotel, and browsing food or furniture or whatever stores definitely wasn't interesting. There wasn't much he could do about it, though, so just quietly followed the other two, lost in his thoughts.

Like, Albedo: was he really never going to see him again? It felt _nice_ to have his other heart so close, it felt normal. Sure, he hated what he did. But, he didn't hate _him_. Well, no real hate: just brotherly hate. And they weren't much different than regular brothers; they fought all the time, picked at one another. Just, their fighting was more fatal, their picking more painful. He honestly thought, after all this time, he'd found some way to die. Or that he'd gone so insane that he forgot his life, U-DO induced amnesia. He never thought his brother would come back, with painfully perfect memory; all grown up, all powerful, but only mostly insane. He saw glimpses of sanity when he was tired, when U-DO was low, when he got _mad_. All three occurrences were so rare, though… unless he was trying to kill him with his anti-U-DO shift. Then, he was happy. Was that it? Had he gone off the deep-end so much that other's deaths were boring, and only the possibility of his own brought him happiness? It was just wrong, sick… but made way too much sense for comfort.

"Jr.?" that soft voice broke his train of thought, jolting a bit.

"Y-yeah?" concern found its way into those aquamarine-turquoise eyes, coupled with a small frown.

"…I asked if you were hungry. If not, we're going to go on to the hotel, and relax for the day…"

"Oh! Well, uh. I'm not really hungry. After we check in, I'll probably do some explorin'. This place is huge! It's like a mini Fifth Jerusalem," opened up his arms for emphasis, smiling ear-to-ear. He was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was always fine.

"Well, then I think we're staying here," he gestured towards a rather low-end looking inn, rather blandly named 'Portside'. The variant stared at the name, his expression reading '_Really? We're staying here?'_ but didn't say anything. They walked in, and chaos smoothly talked to the clerk, getting them a room for four people along with four keys.

"Hey, chaos. There's five of us, you know," the boy pointed out, only seeing four keys—and all to the same room, at that.

"I do," the angel handed Jr. one of the four keys, a soft smile on his face. "One of us will stay on the Elsa to guard it. Probably Matthews or Tony, Hammer isn't exactly…"

"Hey!" the navigator interrupted. "I could-I could take care of the Elsa just fine! I'd just rather stay in the inn is all. I need my sleep so I can go get all the stuff for everybody—if I was tired, I might forget something, and then everyone would be upset," nodded a few times, absently adjusting his glasses.

"Of course. I was just going to say that you weren't as willing to fight as Tony or Matthews; I have no doubt of your defensive abilities," a small bow of his head, to which the blond stuttered a bit then showed an appreciative smile.

"Right! Exactly! You know me so well, chaos…" the redhead scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes. The only thing Hammer could do for the Elsa was protect it with his glass jaw. The boy glanced at his card key, seeing the proud number '021' printed across the bottom.

"Hey, chaos? I got my room and everything… I think I'm going to go check out the dock, alright?" there was a short pause for emphasis—but not enough for reply, "See ya later!" showed his classic grin, running out of the inn with child-like excitement.

* * *

><p>There really wasn't shit to do on the colony. There was a pool, which was pretty cool… but, one glance inside indicated it was mostly full of toddlers, pre-teens, and seniors. While he may had been pre-teen in body, his mind was more teen-orientated. Squirt guns and splashing weren't really on his agenda.<p>

So, continued down his path, ending up back at the actual dock area. The Elsa was easy to spot with its brilliant blue, but he was more interested in the various A.G.W.S. and A.M.W.S. lining the stations. Most weren't really made for self-sustained travel, so seeing so many was kind of interesting. One stood out in particular, being significantly taller than the rest. Most were made as more-or-less robotic armor, but this one was built more like an E.S.—but it sure as hell didn't look like one he'd ever seen. And the body just didn't seem very combat-ready! Hell, there weren't even legs; its stabilizer would have to be extremely precise.

"Isn't it pretty?" the redhead just about jumped out of his skin as he heard a small, feminine voice mere feet from him; golden orbs locks onto his cerulean, nearly empty despite the smile set on her lips blue-silver lips. Blue-silver hair matched her lips perfectly, put up in ponytails with a standard green outfit. A 100-Series?

"Uh, y-yeah, it is," the sheer size had him baffled before, but a closer look revealed it was indeed 'pretty'. It was a basic white, pristine as new; orange streets highlighted this area and that. The top had several 'heads', and the redhead couldn't help but think of the story of Hercules with the hydra. His attention returned to the silent, nearly unblinking Realian beside him. "So, uh… where's your…" he hated the term, "…master?"

"He's on a shopping spree with the money he got from pawning off his old weapons system, as well as from previous jobs…"

"Oh. And what're you doin'? Are you alright? You don't… look very good," her eyes looked soulless, so unlike the 100-Series on the Durandal. But, he hadn't really seen any other Realians than his, MOMO's, and Canaan's… maybe this is what most Realians looked like?

"I was sent to get nutritious objects and red souvenirs. …and, my personality layer is barely on a functional level. The only thing that is 'wrong' is that I do not have an abundance of false emotions to distract me from my assigned duties," she said it so blank, almost monotone, as if quoting another.

"O-oh…" chose to ignore most of what she said, "Why red?"

"Red is his favorite color," a nod from the boy, starting to worry who her master might be.

"Is… is your master's name 'Albedo Piazzolla'?"

"No," an audible sigh of relief, running a hand through those crimson locks. Thank god. Thank god, thank god, thank god. The last thing he needed was some sort of space battle with his brother. "He hasn't bought any weaponry for his E.S. in a long time. I'm sure he'd appreciate your advice, if you have some to offer," wait, whoa whoa, wait. An E.S.? U-TIC and Vector had most of the E.S., so it was probably stolen from one of them and-and…

"I'll… go talk to the guy. Where's he at?" she pointed, her silver-blue nails matching her lips and hair flawlessly. Whoever owned her at least cared a lot about her appearance.

"I believe he's in the 'Gnasty Guns and Gnosis Guts,' E.S. shop," what a name. What a ridiculous though probably fitting name for a weapons shop. "He's wearing long, sheer scarf; that should be hard to miss," Shook his head and flashed the girl his classic smile; to which she returned with those lightless eyes.

* * *

><p>The shop wasn't that hard to find—Gnasty Guns and Gnosis Guts was even hard to miss when it had an holographic picture of a gun shooting out the non-existent guts of a holographic gnosis. It was actually a pretty big shop, and he was surprised he missed it earlier; there was an alley way behind the shop where it looked like a basic mech could fit in without trouble, and turn onoff bridge to allow people or mechs through. Instead of a bell when he came in, there was the shot of a gun played rather loudly from some speakers beside the door. Well, now, the shot-through, fizzling speakers beside the door; never pull a gun, even the recording of one, on a URTV. Luckily, his own shooting wasn't noticed, due to the sound similarity between the recording and his own Makarovs.

Now, what did the girl say he looked like? Something about a scarf, right? There were several shelves with a variety of smaller mech parts; Cockpit Guard, Guard Recovery, Tune Circuit, B-MAX Circuit... But, guns, missiles, swords and the like were nowhere to be seen; probably had to ask for them up front, and they'd install them for a fee or something. E.S. were always extra expensive, since they weren't as familiar with the models. While searching through each aisle for a scarfed man, he found himself wondering _why_ he was willing to help a stranger. That little Realian girl had convinced him somehow, her soullessness all the more incentive to help her master. Frowned, huffing a bit. This guy didn't seem to be in any of the aisles, unless he missed him somehow. Groaned, irritated with himself for even caring.

Suddenly saw something out of the corner of his eye, freezing up and taking a few backwards steps. There! A scarf! A red, long, sheer scarf covered a black-clad figure, hood up and kept in place by the scarf; he seemed almost like a statue, not moving in the least, just staring at all the different parts.

"H-hey! Is that your E.S. out there, with all the heads, and the little 100-Series guarding it?"

"Mhmm," it was a blunt, uncaring reply. There was no bitterness, shock, or even interest; just acknowledgement that he was heard.

"Well, uh… she said you didn't know what the hell to get, and I've had an E.S. for a while, now… so I know what parts work best with them, and what aren't compatible and… hey! Are you even listening?" the hooded figure was walking down perpendicular to the boy, went a few feet, then stopped, staring at the next clump of parts. "Hey, I said—"

"Mhmm," the redhead let out a frustrated 'ugh', stomping over closer to the other.

"Where the hell did you even get the E.S.? I know there's not many!" no reply. "Damnit! I'm talking to you!" grabbed the figure's scarf, jerking it back a little. "It'd be wise to listen!" the scarf was ripped from him, the being whipping around and grabbing him by his hair, amethyst eyes nearly gleaming with rage, double the color due to violet-tinted sunglasses lying over them.

"Look, kid, I am fully capable of—" that rage melted to mild shock then again to pleasant surprise. "Ah, Rubedo…" that hand let go, sliding to his hood to let it fall down. The front was more 'Albedo' like, with splotches of white here and there, outlining his zipper, pockets, and formed in an hour-glass shape on his chest.

"Al… Albedo?" the shock was evident, but easily overwhelmed by his suspicion.

"Yo, Rubedo! So glad you came to seek me out…" that was unlikely, but… well, this wasn't exactly a planned reunion. He wasn't even wearing the proper outfit! He wore red to remind him of Rubedo; unnecessary when he was planning on seeing the boy.

"Like hell I did!" so, definitely not planned. Oh, fate: what an… interesting mistress.

"Oh?" a small reply, kindling to a self-sustaining fire.

"Why the hell do you have a 100-Series? And-and what happened to your E.S.?"

"Oh-oh, you've seen Simeon? Isn't he just beautiful? His form is like a dragon, this time around! A large, powerful chest, thin, lithe lower body… last time, he was more like a lion, if you ask me," definitely Albedo. The sunglasses didn't really suit him, but they were so shapely they looked more like a mask than glasses. And, well, maybe that was the intention in the first place; he was no doubt wanted, after all… though, he hardly answered his questions.

"And… the 100-Series? What about your Kirschwasser obsession?" getting answers from him was like stabbing yourself in the leg repeatedly, until you bleed _just_ enough to clean out the wound, but not enough to die from blood loss.

"Why, Rubedo… you saw all the corpses. Did you think that was but an act? They're all dead. The last Kirschwasser known to mankind no longer has a body; she's merely an immortal consciousness worming around inside Simeon. But, there is still a missing seat in there. One filled by that… 100-Series," he inwardly cursed himself for not having a witty nickname for them, yet. But, he'd have to use it forever, if he spoke it to the ears of his dearest dragon! It needed to be good; Kirschwassers? That was excellent. Kirschwasser—cherry brandy—decayed cherries—decayed Sakura! It was so, so very perfect. And the pêche/péché thing always amused him. He wanted to throw in pêche for fishing, but… he feared he'd completely lose his audience, then.

"That's… what did you do to that Realian? She acts like… like…"

"What? A doll?" a deep, rumbling laugh that was cut short when he realized it drew quit the curious crowd. Psychotic laughing wasn't very common, after all. "Rubedo, she is but bits and bytes of programming; I simply tuned down her personality layer, so I wouldn't have to deal with it. I don't want fake emotions making me worry about their possible love in devotion… so I remove those terrible fake emotions from them. It's a burden on me and themselves… why have emotions when all you feel is misery?" there was a sigh in his tone, looking down in to those cerulean eyes that were looking for a fight, looking for some reason why he wasn't right.

"Because!" was the mind-blowing comeback, "She deserves to have a heart, or… or at least a choice in whether or not she has emotions!" violet-covered amethyst eyes glared down, really not wanting to have this conversation.

"Realians are tools; nothing more. Really, calling her a 'she' is a bit of an exaggeration. 'She' can't even bear children," rolled his eyes. How did you really define a women? By her double X on her 23rd chromosome? What about sex change? That didn't change genes. And Realians didn't even really have genes, they were meant to be all the same.

"They're working on that technology right now, you asshole!" a pointless rumor, no doubt. You needed genes before you could have children; you needed _love_, real love, before you would want to bear children.

"Oh? I cannot wait for the genocide to begin…!" a wide smirk, chuckling lightly. If it did succeed, then one or the other would feel threatened and begin killing. It all depended on just _how fast_ a Realian could spit out a fully operational offspring. Nine months? Nine weeks? No one knew! …yet.

"I'm… you… will you fucking behave! I'm going back to my hotel! I don't want to see your damned face a-again!" glared, trying to look strong, despite the subconscious fear of bleeding out… again.

"Stuttering, Rubedo? Oh, my stuttering starling, you just revealed your lie with but a repeated syllable," let out an exaggerated sigh before suddenly grabbing the redhead by the neck, cutting off his air way but not cutting his skin; held off the ground, pressed up against a shelf rather gently. "Now, Rubedo… you're hurting my feelings, you know. Lying like that, telling me to go away," the link master struggled in vain against the gripping arm, clawing at it viciously… only to have the other hand come to join the first. The lack of air _burned_. It felt like he'd swallowed a piece of coal and it kept running from his lungs to his trachea and back. Albedo was saying something; that sick smirk on his face and the moving of his lips indicated as much. But, he couldn't hear it; his ears were beating loudly, slowly, as if wanting the boy to hear his last heart beats. His vision was spotty, and he was wondering if he'd wake up this time… until his knees stung and he felt a massive headache. He was staring at the tile floor, wheezing in oxygen and coughing out carbon dioxide. Reached up a hand to nurse his aching head wound, pulling his hand back to see a bit of blood. Great, he had a concussion. The pulsing in his ears was quieting down enough to hear the murmur of Albedo's U-DO sick voice, before he lowered himself to one knee and patted the boy on the cheek a few times.

"Yo, Rubedo. Still with me?"

"You…" gasp, "You bastard!" cough, "What the hell was—" cough, gasp, cough, "Was that for?"

"I told you, you were hurting my feelings," a wide, infected smile, patting the other on the head. The redhead jerked away, back slamming into the shelf behind him and giving himself a second concussion. Cursed under his breath, holding his head tightly. "Why don't you meet me later tonight, Rubedo. We have so many issues not yet worked out… and, if we keep running into each other like this, why… one of us might end up dead,"

"Yeah, you will!" didn't even take the time to think that what he was saying was exactly what his twin wanted to hear, "I swear Albedo, if you do shit like this one more time—" his words were cut off by a 'one more time' attempt, the psychopath straddling him and biting his neck hard enough to once again cut off air flow. The boy tried to cry out, but even attempting to use his vocal cords made it hurt worse; so he decided to 'play the victim', staying dead still and trying to bite back a whimper. It seemed to work, his white-headed variant losing interest rather quickly and unclamping those jaws. Didn't get off his lap however, violently violet eyes burning holes into his much more frightened orbs. He seemed mad… and probably was, he liked the fight, hated the submission. Well, usually; really, he was so unstable, god knows what he wanted at any given point. "If-if you kill me… then no one will ever be around to k-kill you," that loud, sickening laugh was muffled by hiding his head under the other's neck, looking to be in a rather uncomfortable position.

"Oh, please. As if I want to kill you. I barely damaged you at all!"

"I have two concussions and it feels like I swallowed fire! My neck is probably black with bruises! If you cared about me, you would be m-more gentle!" the albino giggled lightly, not moving from his position.

"Ah, Rubedo… you smell nice. Charred, bleeding dragon is the feast of knights; and so many ancient tribes ate their kings, thinking they could gain their god-like power. Shall I eat you?" the redhead did _not_ like the threatening innuendo there, moving around enough to draw a Makarov and shoot his younger brother in the ribs, glaring daggers to the unmoving figure above him. "So, when shall we meet?" completely ignore the bullet in his side, pink-infused flesh regenerating over it with ease.

* * *

><p>"Never! I never want to be alone with <em>you!<em>" the redhead fumed, enraged at the idea of being needy enough to want to be with his psychopathic brother.

"Oh? Then why did you come to the space-time anomaly alone?" or, well, at least attempt to. What a tedious seraph stalker.

"Fine, restatement! I never want to be around you, in any shape, way, or form! The only time I want to see you is restrained and zombiefied by medication to get your fucking head screwed on straight!"

"Would that make you happy? Seeing me trapped both physically and mentally?" sadness worked its way into his tone, showing his all-too-human teeth in a beastly snarl.

"I…!" the redhead started. Did he? He didn't want him miserable, but wanted him sane! Behaving! Tolerable! Not trying to murder or be murdered every minute.

"You?" the mocking tone was gone, an uncommon frown set in his features. There was a pause, before he repeated his question. "You?" the tone had gone from almost sorrowful to just plain bitter. Claws dug into the boy's hips, pressing more of his weight on him.

"Tonight. 3 AM. By your mech. O-okay? Then we can both be ready to fight or talk or whatever the hell you want to do. Fair?"

"Always and never, mon beau bête," stood up, taking a step back and bowing, offering his hand to his precious 'little' brother. It was swat away, of course; he wasn't one to accept help. Dusted himself off, cringing as every fiber of his being seemed to be in some sort of pain. How was he going to explain the blood and bruises to chaos? A small snicker reminded him he wasn't alone. "My, your neck looks beautiful… all that glorious pain, emanating from your very core. Does it hurt?"

"Hell yes it hurts! How the hell am I going to hide thi—" he froze as the much larger figure wrapped that scarf around his neck. Oh, this wasn't good. Hands were one thing, but, he could hang him with this thing! The shelves were high and strong enough to just tie onto and-and…!

"It looks dashing on you, Rubedo. I thought it'd match your hair perfectly, turns out I was right…" the boy started a few times, blinking hard; hand going up to the sheer red fabric that wasn't choking him, but merely wrapped around him gently. "You may want to wrap it a few more times, though; to ensure lack of visibility, as well as so that you don't… trip over it," smirked widely. It was long on him, going nearly to his knees. On his dragon? It was ready to wrap around his legs and trip him. The boy huffed, begrudgingly doing as instructed. "Good boy," the glare he got sent shivers down his spine of anticipation, daring to go so far as to try and pat the other on the head. …only to get his hand shot, naturally. Did he expect any different? Let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Let out a half-dreamy sigh, shoulders cringing up in attempt to protect his neck. Having a bare neck felt so… weird. His precious hatchling was scuttling away out the door, while he finally got around to deciding what parts he wanted. Was he going to fight his dragon anymore? He was so very fond of flames, but hated to use them when fighting his little redhead. After all, it seemed _rude_ to steal his element. Beam was so feminine, ice was so heartless, fire so passionate, and electricity so unstable. Sighed, sliding out some orange connection gear and tapping it on to check the time. 9PM, local time. He had plenty of time to decide, but perhaps some fashionable shopping would be more fitting. After all, Rubedo wouldn't be witnessing the weapons any time soon; and deciding whether or not he was going to be fighting his redhead in the first place would make the choice of weaponry much easier.

With a loud sigh, he informed the clerk he would 'be back tomorrow' and asked to have a list of fire and ice weaponry ready. The clerk was more than happy to agree, especially with a 10000 g tip for doing so.

Being in U-TIC (or, was he anymore? He may want to call and ask…), he did get a salary. Being one of their top mercenaries, it was quite a hefty bit. Besides, if he really needed the money back, he could simply scare it out of the employee. A psychotic laugh, a warrant for arrest, knives, _claws_…

But, now. Now it was time to set up the stage: it was time for a dress rehearsal, since apparently their last act wasn't well-prepared enough.

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><p>End Chapter 4<p> 


	5. Dragons & Dogs

A/N: Uwahahah! It's late! I had to do some research on locations and stuff. Bah, research. I started college this week, so... yeah. Late.

Will the next one be on time? Quite possibly not! I might have to rewrite chapter six, as well... it just doesn't have quite the write Albedo-style umph to it.

Have you figured out the update schedule yet? Yes? Good. I'm thinking of changing it to once/month. Maybe the 7th? Or 17th?

This one is bizarrely short, which makes little sense considering it was the same length as most the others when I first wrote it... oh well. Words are silly.

Which is why I'm going to shut up! Per usual, I love me some reviews!

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><p>Chapter 5<p>

Dragons & Dogs (Always Land on Their Face)

* * *

><p>Jr. wondered more than once if having green in your eyes gave you the ability to see people's freaking <em>souls<em>. Whenever something was wrong, Gaignun would know immediately; whenever something was wrong, chaos would know immediately. One was 5'7" with a lithe build and white hair; the other was 6'3" with a stocky build and black hair. The only thing connecting them was green eyes, and even at that, chaos's were almost more blue than green. So, maybe it was the quietness. At any rate, Jr. took one step into his room, and…

"Is something the matter, Jr.?"

"What? No! Of course not. Is something the matter with _you_, chaos?" he inwardly cursed himself for being so defensive. Oh, no, that wasn't suspicious at all.

"I'm doing quite well, actually. Thank you for asking, Jr.," the redhead couldn't help but glare at the politeness. He was trying to make him feel guilty for lying. He had to be. "That's a nice scarf," oh shit, "Where'd you get it from? You don't really strike me as the 'scarf' type, to be honest…" scarves were restricting and dangerous; an enemy could sneak up from behind, grabbed the tips of it, jerk you down, and/or suffocate you with your own clothing. So, no, he wasn't the 'scarf' type.

"Well, uh… you know. I like fashion! The gunslinger thing was getting a bit old, so I decided to try Eskimo for the day," shrugged a bit, sighing loudly. "But, you know, chaos... I really like guns, so I don't think this is going to fly for very long. I'd have to by a spear and… it's just too much trouble. I might as well stick with it for a couple days, though. I'll just be a gunslinging Eskimo. Don't want the scarf to go to waste, r-right?" chaos gave a small, sympathetic nod with a gentle smile. He was _way_ too damn understanding. "So… I was invited to a party tonight. It starts pretty late, dunno when it ends. Someone recognized me, though—I'm a celebrity, y'know? So, I couldn't just turn down my fans!" it wasn't exactly a lie. Albedo had organized a meeting, and there would be a lot of excitement; Albedo did recognize him; he was a celebrity; and Albedo was sure as hell his biggest 'fan', unfortunately.

"That sounds fun… were you allowed a guest?" oh hell no. He must have caught onto the lie—chaos didn't even like parties! He always had to drag him along and…

"No offense, chaos, but I think they want some _real_ party people. You're just too mellow. Maybe next time, but this party's going to be really intense and… I don't want to have to keep track of you, alright?" the seraph gave a small nod, the eternally accepting smile on his face. "Sorry…" by now, the other had to know he was lying. He just hoped he hadn't figured out to what extent. Speaking of, he really ought to be more heavily armed. Makarovs were nothin', they barely even phased his 'little' brother. "So, hey, I uh… left my pajamas on the Elsa," chaos began to say something, pointing towards the bag. "My good ones! I'll be right back, okay?"

"Alright, Jr. …just keep in mind, if you're going out to party tonight, to bring clothes for that, as well… and hurry back, you should to get a few hours of sleep tonight, anyways,"

"Sure thing, mom," he noted sarcastically, rolling his eyes; leaving the room so shortly after arriving. The ancient boy chuckled lightly, shaking his head. He was quite the handful.

* * *

><p>It took quite a bit of convincing before a mostly drunk Tony let him in the Elsa. It consisted of mostly, yes, he'd love to take Tony to the fair; yes, he'd love to ride the Merry-Go-Round with him; yes, he'd love to buy cotton candy for him. He was finally let in, and the redhead pushed rather harshly against the blond. He silently prayed he wasn't <em>that<em> bad when drunk, but… kind of figured he was. He rarely remembered things, after all; due to his little liver, he really couldn't drink all that much. So, he'd usually just take a drink or two instead of five or six.

It didn't take too long to find what he was looking for: his Vaquero pistols hidden under his mattress, in case of emergency. Which, hell, this definitely qualified as one. He paced his Makarovs back in the Vaquero's place, sliding the more powerful pistols into their holsters. Dug around to find some 'nice' pajamas he claimed he was going to get, some loose-fitting red pants and a light blue top (Albedo would enjoy it; he was quite proud that he wouldn't get the chance), then went on to trying to mix-and-match his outfits. He only had a few, not really planning on staying on the Elsa for so long; they were clean, but he frowned at their recent use. He hated being repetitive. He tried to find colors that Albedo _wouldn't_ be able to mock. A quick check of the rainbow indicated that he was red, Citrine was orange, Yuriev was yellow, Gaignun was green, he was also blue, and Albedo was purple; Gaignun was also black, Albedo was also white, Sakura was brown, and… and no one was gray? No one relevant to Albedo was gray!

The boy smiled wide, searching through his closet for… yes. There it was. He'd bought a gray three-quarters length shirt awhile back, loving the almost mesh-like texture. It had swirling patterns of white and black along the bottom half and sleeves, and he knew he'd get a quip about that; some sort of opposites repelling, yin-yang shit about Gaignun. He could handle that. He slid a mostly black leather jacket on over that; he wanted the thickness of leather to protect him from claws, but not the length of a trenchcoat to be _grabbed_ by those claws. Searched around more and found dark brown pants that matched well with his tan chaps—the more protection, the more layers, the better. The boy nodded at the gathered materials, picking up a pair of brown boots to finish. He glared at the mass in his hands, fumbling them all over to one arm before searching for a bag and shoving them in.

He decided to sneak out this time, not wanting to have to promise a pony ride or a circus or whatever the hell Tony's drunk mind thought up… and after five minutes of watching his pacing route, ran out without bothering to check if the doors slid shut.

* * *

><p>It was dark on the colony. Everyone seemed to had gone to bed; and everyone probably had. The redhead took every step carefully; worried that someone would pop out of nowhere and try to mug him or something. He was on edge badly, and thought that said mugger might not make it past the first sentence of his threat. A few shots of lead, and they'd be quite dead thanks to Vaquero. They were there, right? Yes, in their holsters. Right? A third check indicated that, yes, they were, just as they were for the first double check. Let out a sigh, already feeling this to be a long night; and hoping to god he could actually get some sleep.<p>

He was surprised to hear the radio wake him at a quarter 'til three, not thinking he'd actually sleep, let alone well enough to have an alarm wake him up. Hit the snooze alarm before it would further wake chaos up, who was already tossing and turning. The boy let out a sigh, slowly rising to a sitting position and staring at the floor. He really didn't want to do this. His still-aching neck reminded him how much he didn't want to be alone with his older brother. The fact it was in public made him think he could scream—but, in reality, would anyone hear him? He felt better in the Elsa, where a scream would at least get a worried chaos running in; a few hits with his aura attacks and Albedo might back off a bit.

But he was the link master. He could—had to—find out what the hell psychopath wanted. The redhead removed his loose-fitting pajamas, groaning at his tiredness. Stepped into the bathroom to splash some cold water in attempt to wake up, searching desperately for the clothes he brought in earlier. Finally he found them, still in the bag he stuffed them in earlier, shaking them out to get the worse of the wrinkles. The variant double, triple, quadruple checks for his Vaqueros before grabbing a wonderfully caffeinated soda from the mini-fridge, and leaving the safety of the hotel room.

* * *

><p>It seemed to be even more deserted and dark at this time of "night"… which was to be expected. He could hear his own footsteps echoing off the metal of the floor, and all in all… it was creepy. Very, very creepy, and he was going to the mastermind of general creepiness. He shuddered lightly, strongly considering turning tail and going back to the hotel. But, no; he couldn't do that. He wasn't a coward, and Albedo would just hunt him down anyways. …eventually he arrived at the predetermined location, frowning and glaring all around. He could sense his twin; he was close. But, he couldn't place his exact location, and was just waiting for him to hop out at any minute and-and…<p>

"You're late," déjà vu, to say the least. Even more so since the boy had to look up to find his twin leaning against one of the hydra heads of his mech. "I was about to give up on—"

"Cut the crap, Albedo, I'm not in the mood,"

"Too late? Too early?" the redhead half-growled, glaring up at his brother.

"Both! Get the hell down here so I can talk to you!" flinched when something was thrown at him—those damn sunglasses from earlier, now shattered on the floor.

"I can hear you just fine… oh, do you want to be close? Then why not come up here?"

"Albedo…" the link master warned, glaring daggers; the response was just a deep laugh, muffled by a gloved hand. He had that signature white cape, but his regular black and white suit was replaced with black and red; checkers were replaced with red claw marks, outlined in white to intensify the color. The black boots were lace-up instead of buckle, its strings were a brilliant red that complimented with the blood-like claw marks well. The black top was tucked into white gloves, shoulder guards missing, a neck perfectly bare.

"Rubedo…" the white-headed twin attempted to imitate the tone, but it ended with a chuckle that destroyed any of its false rage. "I'm glad you could make it…"

"Shut up! What the hell did you want me down here for?"

"I don't want you 'down there', I want you up here," the redhead groaned, rubbing his temples for an already approaching migraine.

"Fine. Get me up th—" let out a gasp when next thing he knew, clawed gloves were scratching his abdomen and he was in midair. Gripped tightly to one of the metal hydra heads when set down, not liking the looks of the fall. The albino rolled his eyes and sat down with his legs crossed, jerking Jr. down into a similar position. Just one little burst of insanity, and the boy could be colliding with the story-or-more-down metal floor.

"Comfortable, mon roux?"

"No!" the loud laugh resonated, and the boy clung to the neck of one of those heads, making his discomfort obvious. The discomfort only increased when heavy weight was pressed on him, pinning him to the neck he was already clinging to. "Back off, Albedo," he wasn't in the mood for his games. He wanted down. He could try and jump it, but—it was a good ten feet from the E.S. to the dock, let alone from the E.S. to the bottom of the hangar. It wouldn't be too hard to miss, either. …naturally, his brother mostly ignored his command, but did back off some; leaving his head lying on the boy's abdomens.

"So… here's the issue," for once, his brother sounded almost a smidge reasonable. Like he was about to make a deal. "…I want to spend every waking moment with you,"

"And I don't want to spend _any_ waking or sleeping moment with you!"

"Oh, well, that makes it a pretty easy bargain, then! 0% and 100%, the obvious compromise would be for you to spend exactly half your time with me; twelve hours a day, or three and a half days a week, if you prefer…" his logic was ridiculous, insanely sound.

"That is _not_ a good compromise," the link master quickly countered. "I put your 50% bargain against my… 0.5%," he had to bargain a little, right?

"Hm, that's… about 50 minutes a week? 7 minutes a day? My, my… I don't think I can handle that… I revoke my offer of 50% and return it to 97%," the white-headed variant nodded, as if making a sound business deal.

"That's fucking stupid! I am _not_ spending that much time with you. I'd get, what, enough time to go to the bathroom alone? Why the hell are we even bargaining this?" the younger laughed loudly, shrugging and digging claws into the eldest's knees.

"Hey—stop that!" fisted his hand and slammed it on the clawed gloves, only to end up hitting his own flesh as his brother withdrew. Cursed under his breath at the pain in his hand, glaring death down to the rather still brother. "Look, you always have some damn grand plan, so why don't you get on with it alread—" he felt that sudden mid-air realization again. It lasted longer this time, before his migraine got _a lot_ worse, and his leg felt like it was on fire. As did his shoulder. And arm. And… most of his body.

It took a moment for the pain to subside enough to get any thoughts in order. Then he realized he was on the cold, merciless floor of the hangar.

That bastard had shoved him off!

He went to shout at him, but only managed a wheeze, his lungs likewise feeling like they were on fire; either the wind was knocked out of him rather badly, a rib was jutting into his lungs, or he was just too pained to form a coherent word.

A deathly glare was manageable, though. Where to glare to, was the hard part. He couldn't even move without more muscles, bones, organs aching. He could hear, though; the soft thud of another figure landing beside him, the sickening sound of legs breaking… and the hum of the U.M.N. repairing those broken legs.

"My, Rubedo! So clumsy!" tsked a few times, shaking his head.

"Al… Albed-o… you… sonuva-bitch…" a soft chuckle, crouching down closer to eye level.

"You really shouldn't be in such high places if you're going to fall off them. Looks like I'll just have to take you home and fix you up…" the boy snarled and growled as his 'caring brother' went to pick him up. The redhead did his best to fight back, but even the smallest shove hurt immensely; and Albedo would be strong enough to hold him still even at regular strength. He had to bite back a scream at the searing _pain_ that was coursing through his entire body, unable to stop the minute whimpering that erupted.

"Oh, you sound like a little pup… mon petit chion! But, no, my Realians fit that description better… you're not loyal at all," sighed, shaking his head. The boy wanted to scream, shout, object; he only managed an intensely hateful glare, currently struggling just to stay conscious under the immense pressure of pain. "So quiet, Rubedo… eerily, even. Have you passed on already? No—I don't think you can keep quite that scowl in death," a deep chuckle before securing his tiny package, to which it responded with a gasp; he's most precious brother was broken, and he could mend him with all his favorite patches.

* * *

><p>He <em>refused<em> to pass out. It didn't matter how much it hurt. Albedo's gunner or pilot or whatever the hell this seat was, it definitely wasn't comfortable to be half-lying in. They were made to be secure, strapping you in like a roller coaster ride. Hell, with Albedo, it probably was. Those poor Kirschwassers; at least Realians could handle the gravitation force his twin no doubt pulled. Though, he seemed to be going pretty slow _now_, at least. That 100-Series was in the white-headed variant's slanted lap, arms wrapped around his neck for balance (and obviously other reasons). Those wounds and no doubt broken bones were starting to numb somewhat, a couple of those sickening force-regenerations from Albedo kept his energy up. It didn't, however, fix his shattered bones, as they needed to be set and then healed; the bruises were mostly gone, though. The redhead wasn't grateful in the least.

The raging variant just about lost the lunch he didn't bother eating, with an unannounced jump into hyperspace. Way, way too many Gs for him to handle—there was a reason that _ships_ made jumps, not mere mechs. There wasn't enough protection! So much pressure made all his bones feel _more_ broken, if that was possible, and he just about gave his brother the satisfaction of a scream before they came to a too sudden halt. A peak outside revealed what looked too much like Second Miltia. Way too much.

"The-the hell? You live—" a stinging pain reminded him there was something wrong with his lungs—torn or collapsed or being poked by shards of bone, and the rest of the sentence was little more than a moan.

"_You know, we do share a mental link," _the younger variant chuckled at the slew of enraged gibberish and a wave of pain washed over him. Ah, to feel such pain was… usually annoying, but, coming from his dear dragon? It was marvelous. He could feel every little bone begging to be aligned properly, how every movement pushed that doubled-over rib a little closer to popping his poor lung. He was glad he hadn't stolen the fiery breath of precious dragon_, _laughing quietly to himself; which, naturally, got him another slew of half curses. The Realian in his lap was getting rather confused at the tender look her master was taking; and the irritated one that his victim was regaining.

* * *

><p>The boy honestly couldn't believe that Albedo would live smack dab in Fifth Jerusalem! It just didn't make any sense. But, here they were, in an illegal fly zone, no doubt heading for his house. On second thought, maybe Albedo didn't live in the city, he just wanted to fly through it for the hell of it. After all, his brother was known for impulse—or… was it impulse? Every impulse seemed to be part of his plan, so maybe it wasn't. It suddenly occurred to the redhead… that right in front of them? That was the government building. Where Helmer lived—or worked, whatever. Point was, they were heading for it. Right for it. And Albedo wasn't slowing down. At all.<p>

"_Ever play chicken? I've never lost, you know…" _stared down fondly at his twin, enjoying the shocked, frightened, enraged look building in that false veil of blue.

"_Albedo, you motherf__ucking bastard! Don't you dare! We'll die!" _the redhead sent down the link, mustering every ounce of serious rage he could manage; glaring in his twin's direction best he could. The Realian didn't seem fazed at all, however. Blank gold eyes just watched amethyst, which were watching cerulean, which were watching gold. "A-Albe-do…!" the link master growled out, despite his body's stern objection to such an act.

"Fine. Hmph, making me lose…" a jerk to the right and they cleared the building flawlessly; well, at less from the outside. The inside? The redhead's headache just got a dozen times worse and he bashed on the back of the seat a few times. They were almost past the length of the building before another harsh jerk and the sound of shattering glass rung through his ears. And then, the fizzle of the pressure adjusting—the hatch was open. Albedo plopped the Realian from his lap onto his seat ever-so-gently before hoping out.

Albedo must have been on a mission! Everything made much more sense. His home on Second Miltia? Of course not, he'd want to live as far from Miltia as possible—and probably just lived in Simeon. And his… breaking? So he could be used as a hostage against Helmer. Worst thing was, it would probably work! Helmer was so gentle and…

"Executioner. I was hoping you'd be here," wait. What? Executioner—that wasn't Helmer. Was it? Helmer didn't kill… hardly anyone.

"Albedo," was the cold, nearly emotionless response. Wait, that wasn't Helmer, either. That was…!

"Gaignun?" the boy screamed out, not sure if his voice would carry—he beat as hard as aching bones would let him, one arms barely responding to his commands, the other just generally sore.

"Jr.? You brought Jr. with you?" the redhead couldn't see; but he could hear. He could hear that cold tone gain some worry to it. Worry wasn't good.

"No," was the slightly-annoyed response from his twin; it wasn't a sarcastic no, just an irritated one. "But, I did bring our beloved Rubedo," there was a small, tiny irritated sound from Gaignun before he felt like someone was pounding on the inside of his skull. Lightly cried out despite himself, clutching his temples.

"Ah-ah-ah, Executioner. Don't go hurting our dragon on accident. You aren't getting in his mind. Let's just say… I've had a 'coating' installed on my beautiful E.S. …do you like it? I think the remodeled version is just beautiful.

Green eyes narrowed, the head of the Kukai Foundation gracefully walking over to place himself between Albedo and Helmer. He'd hit the panic button, but… well, help wouldn't arrive for a few minutes, unfortunately. He was on the top floor. In Fifth Jerusalem. It was _supposed_ to be secure.

But nothing was secure from the demented middle child.

"What is it, Albedo?" there was more bite to those words than he wanted; peace. Peace was always possible. With Albedo? Unlikely; but not impossible. Still, sweet words were better than harsh ones.

"It seems I've cracked your Liberty Bell, Executioner… won't you repair it?" the black-headed variant didn't even bother to question him. It was probably symbolism; and he didn't really care what it meant. Something was broken; it needed to be fixed. Jr. was with him. But, he'd never hurt Jr., right? Maybe it was a Realian. He was willing to do either; preferably as long as he didn't have to return to ' owner.'

"What did you break?" he asked; firm but not harsh. The security came in, armed with useless, useless guns; Helmer knew as much and held his arm up to indicate not to fire. It's just enrage him, right?

"Your Liberty Bell," if Jr. wasn't so close, he'd blow Albedo's arm right off. And legs. And head. And repeat, repeat, repeat, until he shut up. The best he could do now was give his _delightful_ older brother one hell of a headache. That didn't even seem to be going very well; an increase of energy, to the point it would probably _destroy_ the average person… and there was a small twitch, a hint of pain in those amethyst eyes. But, no other response. "You're supposed to ask 'What's a Liberty Bell?' and then I say… freedom," smirked widely, eyes narrowing maliciously. Freedom? Realians had nothing to do with freedom. Jr. didn't really—wait. He saved him in the Miltian Conflict; gave him 'freedom'. But not Albedo, so it wasn't _their_ Liberty Bell, it was just his. Shit.

"What did you do to him?"

"Me? Why! Not a thing. Our dear leader just… had a little fall. Of course, I could fix him, but… well, I tend to put things back the wrong way. And Rubedo is perfect as he is, don't you think?"

"Yes," was the quick response; no need objecting or hesitating. It'd just prolong the affair. "What do you want, then? In return for his… safety," there was a short moment of surprise on the white-headed twin's features, brows raising slightly. Oh, great, he wasn't expecting payment, and he just offered it.

"A night with you," was the soft demand, smirking.

"What?" why on Earth would he want a night with him? To make sure his grave was nice and deep, fit him well, and have enough time to fill it in? That didn't not sound pleasant in the least.

"Why, have you gone deaf, Executioner? I said, I want to have you—none of your business shit—for a sunless venture,"

"I… see. And what does this venture include?" no response, just a widened smirk. He couldn't stay on his game, not like this. It was completely unexpected! Albedo wanted _Jr._, not him. Right? …then again, Jr. was never civil towards the psychopath—for good reason—so could he possibly just want to have a quiet conversation? No. The grave bit was more likely. But, to save Jr., he'd be willing to go to any means… "Fine. I agree to your terms,"

"I'll pick you up at 8, at your hotel, then," the fact he knew he was staying in a hotel was just that much more disturbing. It would make much more sense to just head home tonight, but, no, Albedo somehow _knew_ he was staying an extra night. The white-caped variant bowed lowly, before hoping back over to his mech and jerking out a Jr. Who screamed at the pull on his injured shoulder, and was then carried bridal style back to Nigredo. "A virgin sacrifice for the Executioner; let's not toss him into a volcanoe, agreed?" the redhead pushed violently and thrashed against the still-holding claws, finding immensely more strength now that Gaignun was in sight. The albino let out an exaggerated sigh, setting his dragon down, then quickly hoping back. "Farewell. See you soon," amethyst eyes locked onto emerald, which struggled under the force of that gaze. The mech hummed with life before back off and taking off nearly straight up; shattered glass still scattered across the floor.

What in god's name did he just get himself into?

* * *

><p>End Chapter 5<p> 


	6. Daddy's Little Angel

A/N: So, this'll barely make my update time, but it shall! Official update day: the 17th! Translation? If it's not up by the 17th, it won't be up again until the next 17th. I like ridiculous consistency like that. College has been kicking my ass, so this is actually the last chapter I have finished. Chapter 7 has about a paragraph done for it... really, though, it just depends on if I get more or less homework. If it remains at its current levels, I should be able to... if it increases, all's screwed.

So, this chapter! ...not proud of this chapter. Surprise! I suck at writing Nigredo. Or, maybe I don't, and he's just bor-ing. Either way, Rubedo'll be coming back into scene next chapter. Spoiler? Maybe. Maybe not.

Anywho! Kudos who gets the "ghost" reference in the title. ;D

Please, please review for this one. I'm not sure whether or not I like the path it's going, and would love some input. More Albedo/Nigredo? More Albedo/Rubedo? More violence, less violence, more innuendo, less innuendo? I'm pretty lost, mhmm. My dear fans, your direction would mean much.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

Daddy's Little Angel (Two Angels and a Ghost)

* * *

><p>Gaignun Kukai felt much younger than he appeared; his current state of being was quite opposite of Jr.'s constant predicament. He was <em>nervous<em> and _fearful_; both rather foreign emotions to the very calm founder. Against any other mass murderer, honestly? He wouldn't be afraid. He could take care of himself; he was a full-fledged URTV, after all. Taught hand-to-hand combat as well as any other soldier, if not better than the Standards. Not to mention he had his rather persuasive abilities, and he could do some extreme damage to their mind if they still were a problem.

But, Albedo? He was immune to seemingly everything. He could punch him in the face, and he'd get a giggle; try to persuade, and he'd end up being manipulated himself; and, god forbid he tried using his 'Executioner' abilities, that only made him more irrational.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, watching his eldest brother's sleeping form sprawled out over the bed. Nanotechnology was an amazing thing; all his bones were knit back together. By some miracle, his bruises had already vanished beforehand; all that was wrong was a few bones that had been shattered, but still in place, and a dislocated shoulder. On Gaignun request, he was promptly sent home with an extra injection of nanites in case anything rebroke (it would be rather fragile for day or two), and a prescription of rest. His excuse was that he didn't want such a celebrity restricted to a hospital, to have fans greet and bother him; in truth, no, he wasn't quite _that_ famous (well… perhaps at home he was), but the excuse worked. He didn't want his adoptive 'son' to be in such a vulnerable, public place; after all, if only family could visit, Albedo could still get in—claim to be Gaignun, do a DNA test to prove it… In reality, it was just too risky. Private places were safer.

The boy was always a restless, but sound sleeper. He jerked around, mumbling profanities now and then, but didn't seem all that upset; a hint of a smile usually graced his sleeping features. Daddy's little angel, indeed; or demon, depending on the day. This evening, though, he was surprisingly silent, brows knit with an unpleasant dream, gripping at the covers he refused to lay under. At any other time, he'd find it cute; today he found it stressing. What all had Albedo done? How long had they been together? It was only a couple days since he went to fight Albedo, but… even a couple hours with Albedo could be dangerous. Very dangerous. And that new mech of his! It didn't even show up on the sensors, it didn't set off any alarms, and its maneuverability seemed distressingly high.

But, that wasn't what he really should be worrying about right now. Currently, there were two main problems: whether or not he should hold up his end of the deal to Albedo, and how to convince Jr. to let him go. The redhead had the impeccable ability to survive anything thrown at him, fate given him enough luck for a false immortality, though most definitely not impervious. But Gaignun? Falling a couple stories down would definitely kill him, but not Jr. There was faint scarring indicated that there was some other damage to be done to the boy—like a bear had mauled him years ago. He had to assume they were recent, however... and had no doubts who the 'bear' was.

They'd only known Albedo to be alive for less than a week. Somehow, though… it was likely he never left. Everything just fell back into place, as if Albedo had always been there, always been their adversary. He wanted to think that maybe, just maybe, Albedo was just doing his mission for U-TIC. Just getting the Y-Data, and his mission was done. He only showed up again when Jr. was in trouble, right? And he was showing up again, now… when Jr. was in trouble; granted that 'trouble' was of his own making.

The redhead didn't really tell him much about all that happened, unfortunately. Mostly just that he lied—which was surprising in itself—and that Albedo didn't escape, but was in really bad shape, and he took him back to the Elsa to heal him up. That was, of course, a terrible mistake, and they 'bickered a lot', which might explain the fading scars. The twins were not very good at sticking to just words, after all; they needed action to better make their point. For them, the only time the pen was mightier than the sword was if the pen shot lasers or was lodged in the other's eye.

Back to the issue at hand, it was an altogether terrible situation. If he went with Albedo, his death was… a bit too likely for comfort. If he didn't, that might have just made him death even more likely. So, he couldn't use his own life to evaluate the decision. But, Jr. …Jr. needed him to protect him, right now. However, wasn't this a bizarre, indirect way to protect him? If he won Albedo's favor, then they could protect their leader _together_. Peace was always possible. Even if unlikely.

* * *

><p>The holographic clock glowed 7:48, and Gaignun glared at it. He was going to be picked up at 8. At his hotel. Outside his hotel? In the lobby? He'd wait here until 8, anyways; he could start a mental link, then. Even ten minutes more may have been ten minutes more of life. He wasn't even sure what to wear; he put on one of his nicer suits, and put some more casual (but still classy) clothes in a briefcase. A businessman with a briefcase; no one would ask questions (excepts Albedo).<p>

He'd already written a note for Jr. (including the location of his will, though under the pretenses of a 'surprise'), apologizing for ignoring his unsaid pleas to stay with him and _not_ with Albedo tonight. That marathon of _Bonanza_ would just have to wait until next weekend.

The ringing on the phone broke him from his daze, and he immediately reach for his phone—holding it to his ear just in time to realize that it was the hotel phone. Smiled wryly at his mistake, lifting the phone.

"This is Gaignun Kukai," he replied smoothly.

"Mr. Kukai, sir," a woman's voice began—the receptionist at the lobby, "You have a guest here, who insists to go up to meet you…" oh, god, no. Not with Jr. in here, sleeping so soundly. Just, no. "Tell him that I'll meet him down there,"

"It's a her, Mr. Kukai, sir," oh. Mary or Shelley, come this long trek to check on their little master.

"May I ask her name?" there was the grating sound of the mouth piece being covered, before she returned with a slightly stressed tone.

"She says she doesn't have one. I believe it's a Realian," great, one of Albedo's toys, "She appears to be a 100-Series, though out of uniform," well, his brother always kept the obsolete 99-Series around. Was something wrong with the Durandal? Something so wrong they send a mere 100-Series? This certainly wasn't good.

"In that case, send her on up, if you will," he kept his tone caring, but firm.

"As you wish, Mr. Kukai," was the nervous response.

"Thank you very much," he finished politely before hanging up. Their 100-Series _did_ have their own names, but… well, not officially. Often just pet names. None the less, there was no other reason for a 100-Series to visit him; and they were notoriously shy with strangers.

It was 7:56 when the Realian arrived. The knocking was quiet, and he opened it to stare down to a rather oddly-dressed girl. It wasn't one of theirs. Those eyes had lost a lot of their usually spark; he suspected the artificial emotion layer was offline. Her hair was down, barely past her shoulders; unlike the typical 100-Series pigtails. She was wearing an outfit that was styled not terribly unlike MOMO's, though with warmer colors, and just a bit longer. Barely.

"Master would like to meet you outside," …so, Albedo didn't just keep 99-Series around. That was... ...disturbing, actually.

"Very well. I'll be down their momentarily," she didn't move. Emerald eyes locked silently to gold for a moment, trying to read her. …of course, she was told to _bring_ Gaignun, not just tell him. She wasn't going to leave until he did. Swallowed harshly, keeping himself stoic; if this was his day to die, so be it.

* * *

><p>The girl's mind was definitely straight forward; she didn't say anything, didn't respond, just led him to his destination. Down the hall, down the elevator, into the lobby, through the revolving doors of the exit, and past a few rows of cars. Then he spotted white.<p>

White hair, white shirt... oddly enough, the white ended there. No cape. No gloves? He was wearing what could have been a black suit, but the front was open, the shirt not tucked in, and the tie very loosely around his neck. He had a pair of thin, frameless black sunglasses, shielding a lot of the emotion Gaignun would have loved to be able to read. He got pearly-white smirk, though; never a good sign. He was leaning against a hovering black car, arms crossed; surprisingly, just a high-end car, sleek and aerodynamic. It wasn't a tank nor a limo. He gestured towards the vehicle, that smirk still on his face. Alright, he did have gloves; they were just hidden under the sleeves of the suit.

"Shall we get going, Nigredo?" he cringed at the greeting. In all honesty, he'd prefer 'Executioner' over his real name. It just had too, too many memories associated with it.

"I don't go by the name anymore. You shall address me as Gaignun Kukai," he hoped the sternness in his voice would be convincing; but was somewhat surprised at the formality. It gave him an odd feeling, like that superiority wasn't quite his. And shouldn't be!

"Then you shall address me as Lord of All Eternity That Ever Has Been, Is, and Shall Be," the black-headed variant glared at his brother.

"Nigredo's fine," he finally decided, already losing round one.

"I prefer Albedo, anyways," the albino stated cheerily, smiling ear-to-ear. Without a view at those eyes, though… the mirth seemed disturbingly true. That smile rather suddenly faded to an irritated frown. "You avoided the subject at hand. …are you ready to go, Nigredo?" the tone went from nearly happy to rather harshly cold and bitter.

"Of course not," he stated, going for the passenger's seat. "But let's get this over with," he cursed silently for the slight flinch he gave when Albedo slammed his hand on the door, denting it barely with his nearly inhumane strength.

"You ride in the back," the youngest variant stared at him, rather confused. _Why_ was he going to be in the back? To what end was the goal of isolating him—or perhaps it was just a subtle insult. A wide smirk found its way back onto his features, "…with me. The Realian drives. I have trouble obeying speed limits and signaling and…"

"Just about every other law that exists. Do you intentionally try to break them?" the smirk went to a frown, just nearly a pout.

"Maybe," was the vague reply, tone sounding more like a found-out child than a suave adult. "Whatever. Get in," opened the back door quickly, grabbing Gaignun's shoulder with clawed nails and half-shoving him in. Honestly, he felt like he was being kidnapped. The middle child kept pushing, making the youngest have to scoot all the way over to the other side. Gaignun attached his seat belt before folding his hands and setting them in his lap. Albedo jumped plopped in, both gracefully and sloppily. One hand over the top of the seat, the other resting on the door's armrest, leg crossed over his knee at the ankle. Seemed rather upset, but by who knows what. Was he supposed to ask? Was that the intention? …or was he not supposed to, and he wore those sunglasses to protect his emotions?

"…is something wrong, Albedo?" the albino glared. Or, he assumed it was a glare; the sunglassed eyes were faced towards him, at any rate.

"You didn't bring Rubedo with you,"

"Jr.? He's recovering,"

"…he didn't want to come with us?" the truth could get him attacked; but, a lie could be much worse.

"I didn't ask him," it was true; he didn't bother to, didn't _want_ to. If this was a peace mission, then having Jr. home, safe, was the best place for him. That way, he couldn't be a hostage… or an instigator.

"_Why_? So haughty to assume I just want to spend time with you?" the tone was nearly disgusted, and the glasses weren't even aimed his way, this time; distracted by the sights outside the window.

"Well, you did invite _me_… sorry for the misunderstanding," it was an empty apology, but hopefully an accepted one. "And no offense, but if you wanted him to come… you would have just forced him to, as usual," there was a scoff before he felt the assault of sunglasses hitting his temple, falling onto the seat beside him. Rage was in those narrowed eyes, and it wasn't something he wanted to see.

"I have never forced him anywhere until today!" he was nearly yelling, and the youngest variant definitely didn't want that. There was a pause while he calmed down, glaring much too harshly. "And today was only for his own good—he was wounded! So I took him to you,"

"After _breaking_ him," Gaignun reminded, an odd sense of paternal instincts riling up.

"Give me those," the white-headed variant quickly reached over, snatching the sunglasses back and sliding them on. "I didn't break him. He fell. I mean, I—" he seemed stressed, almost confused. A frown overcame those features, thinking of the proper terms. Suddenly smirked, wide and proud, "It's not my fault that his bones shatter so easily," chuckled to himself, a sickening smile growing all the more. But, what was with that tone earlier? It was so close to regret… but, sanity was a fleeting thing with the middle child.

"Where are we going?" the youngest quietly asked—not entirely sure if he wanted to go.

"To dinner," was the blunt, straight-forward, non-confusing reply.

"And a movie?" he mocked coldly, trying to get his mind on other, non-Jr. things.

"Oh, Nigredo… perhaps. Only if you play your cards right," he nearly purred out in reply, "We must properly wine and dine first, however," the Kukai Founder wanted to slink down in his seat and vanish. He resisted the urge, looking out the window to prevent gawking. Okay. The alibno's tone was… a bit too serious, and way too salacious. This was not a date—right? He did not agree to go on a date with a psychopath, and he most definitely did not agree to go on a date with his brother.

* * *

><p>The trip there was… longer than the youngest thought. He figured they'd just drop by a local fast food restaurant, or… well, he couldn't really imagine Albedo with a hamburger, or any finger food for that matter. Really, he just didn't seem the type to eat. Why bother when you can regenerate? He didn't eat much when he was a child, but…<p>

"We're here," the lack of malice was somewhat shocking, as was the location. _Pane Cielo_. It was a fairly high-end restaurant, and probably the messiest he could think of. Everything was coated in meat sauce or something similar—wouldn't that be bad with white gloves?

"It means Bread Heaven in Italian. Spanish, too, I believe... but their concern is the Italian portion. They have the most delicate, fresh loafs here. And, the inside's modeled after a Lost Jerusalem type—I figured you'd appreciate that, with your backwards little Foundation,"

"I—my foundation isn't backwards. It's historical. …lack of nanotechnology does not make things backwards," there was a scoff, probably a shielded eye roll before his brother's door suddenly opened, the Realian tending to such a simple need. The albino let out an exaggerated sigh before stepping out and stretching, tapping those sunglasses to ensure they stayed. The Realian disappeared for a moment and the black-headed variant quickly discovered why; to give him the same courtesy as her master. He felt almost guilty that she was doing so, but… well, they were created for human use, and the Durandal used plenty of them. The director ignored the slightest blush when he realized he was staring at the girl, getting out quickly to have the door closed behind him.

"Nigredo! Hurry up," slowed his step just to spite the impatient variant, to which he grabbed his wrist and jerked him forward hard enough to almost fall. "Do not test me, Nigredo. You have no dragon to hide behind," Gaignun sighed lightly at the repetitive use of his unwanted name, deciding to try and have a decent time—or at least pretend to. The inside hadn't changed much since his last visit, a business dinner—then again, this was somewhat business, as well. Definitely wasn't for pleasure. Holographic pictures of vineyards and canoe-filled rivers. Jr. would have a fit over the latter inaccuracy, and the director couldn't help but give a small smile of his thought. "Don't smile," his older brother demanded of him, glaring. "Stop thinking of Rubedo," the tone was both murderously possessive and childishly pouting.

"You can't control what I think," the youngest replied calmly.

"I can prevent you from ever thinking again," the middle-child threatened with bitter tone but triumphant smirk. Bantering was pointless with him; silence was preferable.

* * *

><p>Dinner began promptly, apparently Albedo had made reservations—but, considering the restaurant was only about three-fourths full, it seemed more precautionary than necessary. He could have reserved earlier that afternoon, so it didn't necessarily mean it was part of some big elaborate plan.<p>

His brother, naturally, had to ask about all the wines they had, and ended up going to the back to make the selection himself. A 4763 variety, whatever that mounted to. All wines had tasted virtually the same since all vineyards had become virtually the same—equally efficient and irrigated from year to year. The meals were simple, and absolutely full of carbohydrates. He felt like rather feminine to be thinking so, but Albedo had a very muscular frame, which no doubt took a lot of energy… while his muscle weren't flabby by any means, he spent most days signing papers, not doing god-knows-what to god-know-who for U-TIC. The middle variant got ravioli with both meat and alfredo sauce, whereas he got fettuccine alfredo. There was almost an awkward silence between them, which the younger had no intentions of breaking. But, naturally, the older did.

"How has our precious older brother been this last decade-and-a-half?" the albino asked somewhat harshly, though possibly unintentionally so.

"Fine," was the simple, hopefully harmless reply.

"Nigredo," the white-headed one nearly snarled, demanding more.

"He was very upset when you were gone. He made jokes about how he was glad you weren't around, but… he always seemed sad. He still always seems sad. I don't know if it's because of you, Sakura, Dmitri, or what… something in the Miltian Conflict scarred him. Made him both grow up and cease growing… mentally and physically, not quite respectively,"

"I don't believe I quite follow, Nigredo. Don't speak in unintentional riddles to an intentional riddle master,"

"What?" waved his hand lightly, negating his own question. "I mean, he acts like what he looks like, but deep down he's a lot older. He's been the same since then, meaning that his inner maturity took affect then… for both of us, I guess,"

"Oh, please. You've always been mature. You had a serious crush on Citrine long before Rubedo met Sakura," to this, the younger simply didn't know how to react. While he himself was uncertain of the validity of the statement, it was still somewhat offensive.

"Albedo. We didn't even know there was females for sure until Citrine showed up… and that was after Sakura showed up… and I rarely saw Citrine after that. We weren't allowed—they didn't want males and females around, mixing identical genetics into a perfect clone, that would be entirely human. Like Dmitri," there was a deep chuckle from his brother, shaking his head lightly.

"You think our father human? Interesting. Did he tell you he was?" the occasional chuckle slipped out, obviously extremely amused by the apparently far-fetched comment.

"I didn't have many personal conversations," Gaignun replied perhaps too quickly.

"You mean… you don't have many personal conversations?" the middle-child corrected.

"…now _I_ don't follow. Isn't that what I said?" there was a loud, almost irritated sigh, like one trying to explain something to a child that refuses to actually listen.

"Didn't is 'did not', from 'did', the past for of 'do' that is in 'do not', thus 'don't'…"

"What?" he interrupted, having no idea where this conversation was going.

"Perhaps you really don't know. You're daddy's little angel. His savior from damnation and death…"

"I was the one that killed him in the first place!" he kept his tone low, but found himself actually angry with his older brother—another rather foreign emotion to him. Those sunglasses were finally removed, and he was surprised to see a hint of concern in those usually stone-cold amethyst.

"Nigredo… haven't you noticed anything odd?" he began running his gloved finger around the glass of wine that took him nearly ten minutes to choose.

"Explain yourself," the raven-haired one asked, perhaps a bit too demanding.

"No," the albino nearly hissed out, "I don't have to tell or explain to you anything!"

"You just _were_ trying to explain something to me, and I'd like you to elaborate,"

"No!" the albino shouted, not caring about the stares he was getting. How could he not know? How could he not sense that slimy aura on him? As much as the evolved one would hate to admit it… his father was most definitely infected by U-DO, and Nigredo most definitely was not. But, none the less, Nigredo was contaminated—not on surface, but deep, deep down. How could he not sense that energy suffocating his very soul? It made no sense—the youngest was always so sensitive to such things. He had to be wrong. He just hated the youngest so much, he was projecting his fears onto him. If their dad came back, well… no doubt that after brainwashing Nigredo, he'd go on to kill the too-stubborn Rubedo, and leave him to suffer eternity alone. He really wanted a Realian to hug onto about now. He shoved those sunglasses back on and buried his face in his hands, trying to make sense of this ordeal.

"Albedo…?" oh, right. _He_ was still here, to be a terribly annoying bother. He invited him here to find out more about Rubedo, more about Yuriev, maybe even more about him. He glanced at his half-eaten ravioli, finding his appetite to be completely gone. _This_ is why he needed to be a Testament—Wilhelm would _tell him_ if something was terribly wrong! That would be part of their deal, to be able to have all information pertaining to Rubedo's safety. _"Albedo,"_ that damn baby had the nerve to create a link with him! If he wasn't responding it was obviously for a reason—he didn't want to speak!

"What?" he quietly cursed the bratty tone in his voice, recovering with a straightened posture and devilish smirk. "I gave you enough information. It's your job to put the pieces together," lifted his glass, holding it up in a cheers position—but withdrawing before his clink-mate could even realize what was going on. "To your baffling intelligence, little baby," chugged down the remainder of his glass, gracefully pouring another and topping off Gaignun's.

"Did we just fight?" he finally commented, wondering what the hell just happened.

"Perhaps. Ask another, unrelated question," the infected variant replied smoothly.

"…why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?"

"White hair is common, purple eyes aren't. I'm a wanted fugitive, who wants to have a peaceful night with his little brother," well, that somewhat answered his next question. Albedo downed another glass of wine, which prompted his next question.

"Can you get drunk?" the variant let out a quiet laugh, tilting his head.

"Now, now. It's my turn to ask a question," apparently they'd started a game at some point. And who knew what the bizarre rules were going to entail.

"Alright…?" this game wasn't going to be fun, was it?

"What's Rubedo's favorite color?"

"What?"

"His favorite color! What is it?"

"Why on earth does this matter, Albedo?"

"Is that your question?"

"Sure, why not…"

"We're getting out of order… answer mine first, then I'll answer yours,"

"Ah… alright. I think it's black,"

"Like _you_. Like your hair, your name origin, your damn eyes! Just empty black pits of hell,"

"I… what? Albedo, I guessed it was black because it's the color of his guns and his leather. I don't think he really has one, that was just my best guess…"

"Fine. Whatever. I just wanted to know so I could get him a birthday present,"

"His birthday past, several months ago,"

"Liar. We're weapons. We don't have a birthday,"

"Me and _Jr._ decided to pick our own birthdays, based on ancient star signs… Jr.'s idea, of course. Mine's the 8th of May and his is the 6th of December. I don't think anyone believes in that ancient stuff anymore. The constellations it's based off of don't even exist anymore. Still, it's nice to have a day to celebrate, if nothing else, liberation…" smiled slightly at the thought, though it quickly faded when he remembered who's company he was in.

"Oh…" that straight face frowned a bit, picking at his food.

"Normal people have birthdays. We're trying to be normal. I know you don't understand that, but—"

"I don't understand what? That normal people have birthdays? Or that you want to be normal?"

"Albedo—"

"Do you know who found me when you and Rubedo abandoned me? Hm?" oh, great, he was waiting for a reply. A guessing game would be… bad.

"Who?" he kept his voice as even as possible.

"The man who sees Joachim as a god, is jealous of him, wants to surpass him, and has his kneecaps delightfully shot out by him. I believe him and dad were rather good friends, as well. He was basically my father figure, since you shot our biological one," rolled his eyes a bit, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm sorry. Rubedo is, as well. I'm sorry he won't apologize to you—you know he's too proud for that. …it's one of the things we love about him, right? His proud stubbornness?" the albino glared at him through glasses, frowning more before giving a slight nod.

"I'm done eating," he suddenly replied, still having a decent amount of food left. If it was Jr., he'd tell him to finish his plate, but… Albedo most definitely wasn't Jr.

"Same," the director wiped his lips clean of any remaining sauce with the napkin, sipping the rest of his wine until it was gone. The infected unit was up first, the remaining wine bottle in his hand.

"Let's go," the older half-growled.

"Don't we need to pay first?"

"I'm a fugitive, wanted dead or alive. Think I care if I get some pissy cook running after me? Look how frail all these guys are,"

"Fine, I'll pay,"

"I'll be waiting outside," the director sighed as he watched his troublesome older brother leave. Really, couldn't one of his siblings act their age? Put on his public smile and picked up the bill he didn't remember being dropped off, tracking down a waiter to give his card to. He had to stand awkwardly in the middle of the restaurant for a few minutes—thanking the waiter and apologizing for their loudness.

And now, the real key was to see what surprise Albedo had next. This actually wasn't too bad—but, it was still early enough in the evening for plenty more to go terribly wrong. With a heavy sigh, Gaignun smoothed a hand through his hair and went out to search for Albedo.

* * *

><p>End Chapter 6<p> 


End file.
